Don't Go Out On Friday Night
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: When a deadly serial killer resurfaces, the police and Batman find themselves turning to the Riddler, the one person who knows the most about the threat. Somehow they must put aside their differences long enough to prevent the next murder.
1. The Friday Night Killer

**The Batman**

**Don't Go Out On Friday Night**

**By LuckyLadybug**

**Notes: The characters from The Batman cartoon are not mine. The other characters and the story are mine. It picks up in my timeline after **_**Kaleidoscope**_**, but that does not have to be read to understand this. It is good, however, to know that it takes place following the episode **_**Riddler's Revenge**_**, and that it's partially inspired by the comic book series **_**The Long Halloween**_** (even though it will be very different). And I've decided Riddler wears black eyeshadow because when his eyes are closed, all you see through the white of the mask is black. (And hey, we already know he wears lipstick. Why not eyeshadow too?) Many thanks to Kaze for plot help!**

* * *

**Chapter One**

A frustrated, worried sigh escaped Commissioner Gordon's lips as he slumped back in his office chair. Laying open on his desk was the report he had been staring at for the last hour. Another unfortunate soul had been murdered, pulled from Gotham Bay the past night. The crime matched the _modus operandi_ of two previous murders in the past three weeks. And what was especially troubling was that the pattern was far too similar to the Friday Night killer, a serial murderer who only killed people on the weekends. The bodies were discovered Friday night or Saturday morning.

But was it the original Friday Night killer, or a copycat? The first one had vanished from all knowledge three years before. Now, suddenly murders were being committed again, and as usual, the victims did not seem to have any common link between them other than that they had been out on Friday night. They were not found only in the water, but in the road, laying in fields, and once, even hanging from the ceiling in a warehouse. Other than the days on which they were killed, the only indications that the seemingly random murders were committed by the same person were that torn pieces of Friday's newspapers were always found on the victims or attached to their clothing.

Gordon laced his fingers, staring blankly at a picture in a second file open on his desk. There was only one person he knew of who had any possible connections with the original Friday Night killer. But that man was a criminal himself, a disturbed soul recently returned to Arkham Asylum. Gordon hated the thought of having to rely on that person for any help, but it seemed that there was no other choice. The original Friday Night killer had terrorized Gotham and the surrounding area off and on for months. They could not possibly afford a repeat of such a tragedy. Three people were already dead. If the pattern kept up, a fourth would die in six days.

And if Gordon could help it, he would not let that happen.

Even if that meant going to another criminal for help.

* * *

Edward Nygma was sitting up in bed at the Arkham infirmary. In his hand he held a small pocket mirror, studying his reflection as he applied the dark green lipstick that had become almost synonymous with his alter ego. His raven hair fell around his shoulders, unnoticed since it was not getting in his way. But though he seemed completely absorbed in what he was doing, he was actually quite attentive. As soon as there was a knock at the door, he looked up.

"What is it?" he asked.

The door was pushed open, revealing the nurse who had been by his side when he had awakened from the coma. "There's someone to see you," she announced.

Nygma leaned back. "Hmm," he mused. "Who could it be--the psychiatrist? I thought I'd already spoken to her today." Edward had not been able to curb the urge to speak in riddles during the session, but he did not particularly care. Knowing where the desire came from did not make him eager to get it to stop. He wanted to discover who he was, to see if he could move beyond being the Riddler, but he did not know that he wanted to entirely abandon that side of himself, either. What he really wanted was to discover the perfect balance between the two aspects of his personality.

The nurse hesitated at his query. "No," she said slowly, "it isn't the psychiatrist. Here, I'll let him speak for himself. I'm not sure what he wants." She backed out of the doorway, allowing a tall, serious man to enter the room.

Nygma blinked, but quickly masked his surprise. "Commissioner," he greeted. "What a surprise. I wasn't expecting visitors." He gestured around the bright, sparsely furnished room. "The accommodations are a bit lacking in decor, but I'm sure we can manage."

Gordon stopped near the bed, frowning down at the lanky man's appearance. "You seem to be making yourself right at home, Riddler," he commented, eying the green lipstick and black eyeshadow in disbelief. Completely aside from his lack of comprehension as to why the younger man wanted to wear makeup, he was astonished that it was even allowed here.

A smirk graced the painted lips. "A reward for good behavior," answered the one known as the Riddler. "But they haven't let me have my cane back yet." He drew his knees up, leaning forward as he laid an arm across them. "I know you didn't come here for a friendly chat," he said now, his accented voice suddenly growing hardened and serious. "What is it you want?"

Gordon made a mental note to speak with the head psychiatrist and find out how she had been handling Riddler's case. But for now he looked back, steel-faced. "I'm going to get right to the point," he said. "Several years ago, Gotham was being terrorized by a man only known as the Friday Night killer."

Riddler's expression flickered but remained impassive. "And he was never captured," he said. "Am I correct?"

Gordon nodded. "He stopped killing and disappeared. But now the murders are starting up again, with the same M.O. and the same seeming lack of connection between the victims."

"Ooh. And you're telling me this, why?" The Riddler smirked again. "I won't be going out next Friday night, so I won't be in danger."

Gordon's expression remained stern. "The Nygma family suffered a tragedy at the hands of the original Friday Night killer," he said, "as you well know."

"My uncle." Edward sat up straight. "And just because of that, you think I can help you now?"

"No," Gordon retorted. "Because you went after the killer looking for vengeance."

"And didn't catch him, unfortunately," Nygma lamented.

"But you still got closer to him than anyone else," Gordon said.

"True," was the response. "I learned quite a bit about his patterns and habits. I even found one of his hideouts. But why would I share this information with you?" he said. "After all, I wanted to bring him down myself. If he really has returned, then my feelings haven't changed. I don't want to share my prize with anyone else."

Gordon was losing patience. "This isn't just about your own personal quest!" he said. "Innocent people will die. Three already have."

"What makes you think I care about them, Commissioner?" Edward asked, bringing the tips of his index fingers together. "I've certainly endangered the population of Gotham more than once."

"Have you?"

Both of them froze at the third voice. As they turned to look to the door, the dark-cloaked figure of the Batman was entering. He stopped in front of the Riddler, his eyes hidden behind the ever-present mask. It had been several years since he had seen the Riddler not wearing a mask, but he was not a great deal surprised by the other's appearance. He had not changed a great deal; the dark green eyes were watching Batman with intensity. The Riddler seemed highly pleased that his favorite opponent had appeared.

"The only time a large number of the city's population played a part in one of your schemes, the 'physical threat' was an inconvenience but not a danger," Batman said. "The 'bombs' you'd placed at key locations were filled with dessert gelatin."

Riddler smirked. "You remember one of our first meetings," he said. "That's so touching."

"The times when you've actually tried to physically harm someone, it's usually because you've got a personal vendetta against them," Batman went on, "or if you're trying to use someone to force someone else's hand."

"And you're saying that's justified?" Riddler purred.

The eyes narrowed. "No," Batman said coldly. "I'm saying that letting random people die isn't something you do."

"Trying to stop it isn't my style, either," replied the Riddler. "I'm not a do-gooder like you, Batman."

Batman half-glanced at Gordon. His silent message said that this would work better if they were alone. He had been observing the past conversation through a one-way glass, and it was obvious that the Riddler was doing everything in his power to be difficult. He wanted something out of this deal before he would agree to it. And he wanted to speak to Batman about it without anyone else there.

Gordon gave a silent nod in return. He walked past, heading for the door. Without a word he left, shutting it behind him.

Nygma began to relax. "Now," he said, watching Batman expectantly, "this is more like it. I've always found three to be such a crowd. Don't you?"

Batman ignored the comment. "What is it you want, Riddler?" he asked. "I know you're interested in this deal."

The raven-haired man held up his forefinger. "Correction--I'm interested in taking down the killer myself, not watching from the sidelines." His eyes narrowed. "My uncle was the only member of my family who ever believed in me. I still despise and loathe the Friday Night killer for taking his life."

"Getting revenge isn't going to bring him back." Batman's voice was cold, but there was something else at the back of it--an emotion that most would not be able to place.

But Edward Nygma could.

"You understand the urge, though, don't you, Batman?" he said. "You know the anger and the pain that drives those feelings."

Behind the mask, the eyes narrowed further. Riddler was about to make some kind of a point. This was not an idle comment or observation.

The lanky man's voice dropped to a near-whisper. "I know who you are," he said.

Now Batman stared, his lips parting slightly in shock. For a moment, all thoughts had fled his mind. The Riddler had always been obsessed with learning his identity. Was it possible that he actually had discerned the truth?

Nygma smirked more, pleased with the reaction he was getting. "It really wasn't so difficult to figure out," he said, tapping his right temple with his forefinger, "not when I began to seriously think about it while I was in that coma. I'd been doing a lot of demographics research before that, narrowing down the results of who could be the Batman based on approximate age, height, weight, background information, that sort of thing. But I didn't finish with that, because it's so much more fun to actually involve you in my plans." He leaned back. "However, that wasn't working out, and while I was knocked senseless I managed to put the rest of the pieces together."

Batman frowned, gathering his composure. Riddler had not actually said who he believed the Batman was. That was just as well, when someone could be listening on the other side of the one-way window. And maybe Riddler had made a wrong deduction anyway.

"And what are you planning to do with this knowledge?" he asked. "A riddle that everyone knows the answer to isn't fun anymore."

"Of course." Riddler smiled. "I'll just hang it over your head for a while."

"Let's get back to the point." Batman fixed the other with a hard look.

Riddler nodded. "Alright, Batman." He looked back, his expression completely serious. "I know that there's certain cases where a criminal is granted immunity if they help on a case. That is what I want. The psychiatrists have already determined that I'm sane. I just have . . . certain impulses I have to learn to control. And I can do that."

The eyes narrowed. "Only the police could decide whether to give you immunity," Batman said.

"But you have some sway with the commissioner, don't you?" Riddler said.

"I don't trust you, Riddler. I can't tell the commissioner I think you should be let out."

A shrug. "You said yourself, you don't think I would let random people die," Riddler said. "And with Julie and Gorman in prison, I don't have anyone to take revenge on except the Friday Night killer. I would stay focused on that goal and not be sidetracked."

"The killer is supposed to be brought in alive." Batman continued to give the other a stern look. "Is being given immunity the only way you'll agree to help?"

"It would really be more profitable for you and the police, too," Riddler said with another shrug. "What I can do in here is limited. I don't have access to all the research I did. And it's stored where only I am allowed to get inside."

That was not surprising, but it half-sounded like another riddle. "I'll give the commissioner your message," Batman said. "But I won't say I'm supporting it."

"It all depends on how determined you are to stop this madman," Riddler said. "Apparently the commissioner doesn't think it can be done without my help."

Batman headed for the door, not wanting to speak for Gordon--nor to feed the Riddler's ego. ". . . Even if you're given immunity, it would just be a one-time thing," he said. "The instant you'd start committing crimes again, it would all be void."

"Of course," Riddler said. "But it all depends on what constitutes a crime, doesn't it."

Batman was not in the mood for this discussion. "It's not that difficult a riddle to figure out," he said.

He could sense the Riddler shrugging. "No, I suppose not," was the reply. "But right now I want justice, Batman, the same as you do. It's just that my idea of what would be justice is different than yours."

Batman pulled open the door. "I know," he said, stepping into the hall. The door closed behind him.

* * *

Gordon was waiting for him in the corridor. Before Batman could say a word, the commissioner spoke.

"I heard," he said. "He wants total immunity." The older man looked tired and resigned.

"Are you going to let him have it?" Batman asked.

"I'd rather not," Gordon frowned. "The sad fact is that I don't know where else to turn. Gotham P.D. was able to get some good clues to the original Friday Night killer, but they didn't come as close to the truth as the Riddler did. The man was obsessed. He studied every inch of the case and the murders religiously."

"It's the fact that he is obsessed that bothers me the most," Batman said. "Once he reaches his breaking point, he's capable of going into a frenzy. No one is safe from him when he's in that frame of mind."

"Then we'll have to make sure that doesn't happen," Gordon said, wearily massaging his forehead.

"And if it does, then he'll have to be stopped along with the killer," Batman said.

". . . That's the chance we'll have to take," Gordon decided.

Batman turned to go. "Then you've already made up your mind," he observed.

Gordon watched him head for the stairwell. "Batman," he said then.

Batman paused, waiting, but did not turn around.

"Riddler said he knows your true identity. What are you going to do?"

". . . Even if he really does, he won't tell anyone," Batman said, continuing his journey to the door. Opening it, he disappeared into the stairwell.

Gordon sighed as the door closed. "I hope you're right," he said to himself.

* * *

Edward Nygma frowned as he gazed at the closed door of his room. What Batman had said was staying with him, whether he wanted it to or not. It was true, what Batman had mentioned about the Riddler not going about killing random people. There were other villains in Gotham who did that, and he preferred to not associate with them when possible. But he also felt that it was true that he himself would not go out of his way to stop such crimes from happening.

If it was not the Friday Night killer involved in this, would he be interested at all? Or would he outright refuse any assistance he could lend? Probably he would have posed the idea of the immunity bargain in any case. He did not want to stay in Arkham.

For one thing, he did not trust the doctor. She had replaced Hugo Strange as the head psychiatrist after his own insanity had been discovered. And honestly, she was almost as strange as him. What seemed to drive her the most was uncovering the dark matters of the mind and figuring out just how human the criminals still were, if they were at all. She had allowed him to have his makeup because she had wanted to see if he would again fully turn to his Riddler alter ego. He had the feeling that she hoped he would.

One reason why he almost always answered her in riddles was because he did not want it to be perfectly clear what he was saying. The more she knew about the true him, the better chance she would have at manipulating him someday. He would not let her have that chance. And without actual proof or even mere evidence that she was out of sorts, he could not present his suspicions to anyone.

He was quite a selfish person; he knew that very well. Yet when he did actually open his heart and his trust to someone, he did all in his power to make sure that they were happy. He had tried to do that for Julie. She had responded by betraying him and blackening his name, and in a heartbroken frenzy he had attacked her. He was still very bitter towards her, but he was grateful to the Batman for doing what he could to stop the rampage. Now that he finally knew the truth, and had had a chance to reflect, he felt tired and angry and hurt but did not want to harm her.

On the other hand, he doubted he would ever be grateful if he was finally going to enact his revenge on the Friday Night killer and then was suddenly stopped. He hated whoever was behind those murders. He hated the monster for killing his uncle without a second thought, probably laughing or sneering in glee as it was done, and then shoving the body in front of a passing car while the driver cried out in alarm. For years he had waited for the opportunity to repay what had been done, his hatred smouldering in his heart. Now, unless this was a copycat, he had the chance.

The door opened. He came to attention again, looking to Gordon in the doorway. The older man looked exhausted.

"Batman told me what you wanted," he said. "I can't promise anything, but I'm going to see what I can do."

"Very good, Commissioner." The Riddler leaned back. "You must be feeling desperate."

"I feel that it's this important to stop the madman," Gordon returned. "But if you violate any laws, you'll either be coming back here or going to jail. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly." Dark green eyes studied him. "And now you should best be getting along, Commissioner. You have so much to do and you look so worn out."

"I'll decide when I will leave, Riddler," Gordon said.

"I'm just offering a little advice," Riddler shrugged.

Gordon sighed to himself, already regretting this decision. But it was, unfortunately, the lesser of two evils. It was a concern to have the Riddler at large, but the Friday Night killer was far more deadly.

"I'll let you know as soon as I know something definite," he said at last, and departed.

Edward leaned back into the pillow, turning to stare at the velvet night through the window. The stars reflected in his deep eyes, but he was barely looking at them. Instead he gazed off at a point beyond the twinkling lights, a dark smirk gracing his features.

What he was thinking was anyone's guess.


	2. The Release

**Notes: Many thanks to Kaze for plot help! I hope everyone sounds in character; I've been concerned over whether I could pull this off.**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Doctor Alice Portman was a sharp, efficient woman with a crisp white coat and a red blouse and black skirt. Though she was very busy as Arkham's new head psychiatrist, she had graciously agreed to meet with Commissioner Gordon to discuss Edward Nygma. When he entered her office at the appointed time the next day, she was bent over a folder on her desk, applying her signature. She looked up, adjusting her glasses as she studied the man in front of her desk.

"Commissioner Gordon," she greeted. "I'm glad to see that you're prompt." She closed the folder, setting the pen on top of it. Then she stood, coming from around the desk to shake his hand.

He returned the gesture, looking firmly into her serious green eyes. "I was glad to see that Arkham was prompt in selecting Dr. Strange's successor," he said.

She nodded. "Efficiency is the only way to handle such an assignment as this," she said, moving back to her desk. "Please be seated and we will discuss the matter that is concerning you."

Gordon lowered himself into a chair that was already facing the desk. "Dr. Portman, your patient Edward Nygma has information that might help Gotham P.D. catch a highly dangerous serial killer," he said, wanting to get right to the point. "He has requested complete immunity from his past crimes before he will agree to help us. The reason why I came to see you was to inquire as to his mental condition and your personal opinion on whether he's fit to be released."

She leaned back in her chair. "He has made remarkable progress," she said. "Edward Nygma is not an insane man. He has his wits about him. The main thing holding him back is his continuing bitterness towards the people he feels have wronged him."

"He's been known to fly into fits of rage when he reaches his breaking point," Gordon said, leaning forward. "When he was brought here, it was after he had attacked his former girlfriend intending to seriously injure or even kill her."

"The result of his completely shattered heart, Commissioner," Dr. Portman answered. "He would not have wanted to do her harm if he had been altogether thinking before acting. Once he realized that she had betrayed him all those years ago, his fragile soul snapped."

"Yes, well, it's the fact that he did snap that concerns me," Gordon said. "He has a history of doing that when it comes to anything he's fanatical or obsessed about, and this killer is one of those things."

"True," Dr. Portman said. "Admittedly, I can't guarantee that he would not lose his patience if he found the man who killed his uncle."

"With all due respect, Doctor, there are many lives at stake here," Gordon said. "I don't want to endanger any of them by setting free a man who needs treatment, whether or not he is actually insane. He may decide that he has to enact his revenge on this killer, and doing so might result in the city being put on the line. He has admitted he wants to kill this man, and that can't be allowed either."

"Do you have any other ways to catch this man, Commissioner?" Dr. Portman asked. "Perhaps using Mr. Nygma shouldn't even be an option."

"Unfortunately, he's the only one we know of who has done such an extensive amount of research on the Friday Night killer." Gordon's voice was serious and taut. "This murderer has to be found before he kills again, and that gives us less than a week. Nygma's research is vital to Gotham P.D."

"Hmm." The woman gazed off into space for a moment, her expression thoughtful. At last she looked back to Commissioner Gordon.

"From Mr. Nygma's past . . . actions, it seems to me that he does not endanger a large populace with his plans," she said. "Even if he did snap upon finding the killer, he would likely focus on only harming that one person. Surely the police department isn't afraid of stopping him from that. After all, he does very poorly in extended physical battles."

Gordon felt frustrated. He already knew and had considered all of the above. This woman was not giving him any kind of useful information.

"Doctor, what I came here to ask was your own professional opinion on whether Edward Nygma, the Riddler, can safely be released back into society," he said. "I haven't heard that. You've been giving me guesswork and theories."

She laced her fingers together. "Well, Commissioner," she said, her voice deliberate, "the truth is that Yes, I do believe it. You need his services, and he needs the chance to prove himself. Neither will happen if he stays in here."

He nodded, but then hesitated. There was still something he wanted to know.

"When I spoke to Mr. Nygma yesterday, he was wearing makeup," he said. "Specifically the kind he has used as the Riddler. I couldn't help wondering, Doctor, what was the purpose in allowing him access to it? Unless I'm mistaken, the point of him being incarcerated here was to attempt rehabilitating him and allowing him to move further away from the Riddler persona."

"The Riddler is a large part of who he is," Dr. Portman said. "It will take time to distance himself from his darker self. I let him have the makeup because I wanted to see how much willpower he would have if he put it on. Would he be unable to resist the pull to take up the mantle of the Riddler again? Or would he just sit quietly while wearing it?"

". . . And how has he reacted?" Gordon asked.

"Very well," Dr. Portman said, a quiet smile of satisfaction gracing her dark red lips. "He still speaks in riddles, but he hasn't tried to break out of Arkham.

"He's a good man, Commissioner," she continued. "He has a brilliant mind, one that would be so very helpful to you. My advice is to give him what he wants. Let him help you on the case. To have a sense of purpose, on the right side of the law, may do wonders for the rest of his rehabilitation."

Gordon nodded. "Thank you, Doctor." He stood.

Dr. Portman rose as well. "I hope I've been able to alleviate some of your concerns, Commissioner," she said.

"You've given me more to think about," he answered noncommittally. While it was likely that the Riddler would be granted immunity, he did not know what he thought of the psychiatrist. There was something . . . odd about her, something he could not quite place that made him uneasy. He wanted to think that he was just being paranoid after the Hugo Strange disaster, but his intuition said that was not the explanation.

As they said their goodbyes and the commissioner left, Dr. Portman quietly observed. Once she was again alone, she sat down at her desk, opening the folder with the document that she had signed. The quiet smile, which was really more of a smirk, returned.

"Yes," she mused, "you are a good man, Edward Nygma--even more than you yourself want to believe." She studied her signature at the bottom of the form releasing the man known as the Riddler from Arkham Asylum. It was always best to have such things ready. Especially when she had such big plans. She wanted him to be set free. And she would see that it happened whether or not he agreed to help the police and in spite of what the police decided to do about him.

"It will be interesting," she continued, "to see what it takes to break you. You can't fully be yourself unless you are the Riddler. Will you deny it? Or will you accept it? Maybe you already have. But have you ever considered that the Riddler doesn't have to be a villain?" She leaned back, lacing her fingers. "Or . . . do you believe he has to be, because you have fallen too far to be anything better?" The smirk widened. "Maybe you even enjoy it sometimes.

"Mr. Nygma, I believe you are the greatest riddle of all."

* * *

Bruce Wayne gave a weary sigh as he sank into the couch at Wayne Manor. For hours he had poured over all the information he had been able to access on not only the three recent murders, but those from three years back. As before, there was the same maddening brick wall--no connections could be found among the victims other than that they had been out on Friday night. They were old, they were young, they were middle-aged. Some had jobs and homes and families, while others had been homeless. And they were never killed in the same area. Or if they were, they were always taken to new locations to be found.

The pieces of newspaper were always extremely random, too. The only thing constant was that the torn part always showed the date. Otherwise, at any given crime the fragments could be from the headlines, the business section, the sports pages, or even the comics. The killer wanted to make sure his obsession with Fridays was clear.

Bruce remembered all too well when the Friday Night killer had first run rampant. Batman, and the police, had been completely powerless to bring the madness to a halt. To this day, none of them knew why the murderer had suddenly stopped killing. They had just thanked God that he had. But now he, or someone copying the pattern, was at it again.

If it was a copycat, however, they were mimicking the original killer flawlessly. And somehow, the thought of it being an impostor was even more disturbing than if the first one had returned. Why would anyone want to copy something so sickening? Did they just want people to think the first Friday Night killer was back? Or could they even idolize him? It would not be the first time that something like that had happened.

Then there was the problem of the Riddler. Commissioner Gordon had said that he had been to speak with the psychiatrist and that he was going to have to trust that Nygma would not be up to his old tricks when released. Under these circumstances, there was no time for all the red tape that a request such as Nygma's could bring. The plan was to set him free from Arkham that night. Only a select few knew about it. And Batman planned to be in attendance.

The main trouble when it came to Edward Nygma was that he truly was an enigma. Not even Batman could determine what was going through his mind much of the time. For him to request total immunity, it was to be hoped that he was prepared to go straight. But it did not mean he would. He might only want an easy ticket out of Arkham and then plan to commit crimes without being caught.

Or maybe his idea was to kill the Friday Night killer and then be satisfied with being hauled back to Arkham or to jail. When it had looked like he and Batman would perish in the crate, he had been resigned to his fate after believing that he had enacted his revenge on Gorman. It was as if that had been the main thing for which he had lived.

But now Batman wanted to give Nygma the benefit of a doubt. And in this dire situation, he was going to have to.

The door swung open, admitting a bored Dick--no doubt having just finished his homework. He plopped on the couch next to Bruce, frowning at his foster father's troubled expression.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Bruce sighed, leaning into the couch as he looked over at the boy who was secretly Batman's sidekick. "I was thinking about the Friday Night killer case," he said. "I still can't get anything to add up."

Dick's eyes narrowed further. "But we can figure it out," he said. "We've always been able to before, and you were solving crimes long before I even joined the team." He rushed on, "Why do you need the Riddler's help?"

This was not a surprise. Dick had strongly objected to the idea ever since he had been told the past night. Bruce had tried to explain about the research Riddler had done, and Riddler's personal connection to the killer that had driven him all the more to be thorough, but Dick had not been happy. Not that Bruce was, but he was willing to acknowledge that freeing the Riddler was something that had to be done.

Dick was not willing.

"We've been running into dead ends on this search," Bruce told him now. "The Riddler has extra information that we don't. If we put it all together, maybe we'll finally find the missing link, and in time to save anyone else from being killed."

"But he tried to kill you." The bitterness in Dick's voice was apparent.

"I'm not excusing him," Bruce said, "but at that moment he was desperate. He didn't want to be returned to Arkham before he'd had the chance to learn whether it was true about that girl betraying him."

"And he tried to kill her, too." Dick leaned forward. "The guy's bad news. How can you even trust him for something this big?"

"He won't lie about his findings." That was one thing of which Bruce was certain. "He wants to catch the killer as much as we do."

Dick frowned, looking away. Those feelings were something he could relate to only too well. After his parents had been deliberately killed, he had wanted to take revenge on the gangster Tony Zucco. But instead, when he had had his chance and Zucco had slipped and begun to plunge to his death, Dick had saved his sorry life. He did not regret it. He had let go of the burden of his hatred that night. The Riddler still carried his.

And if Dick had not had Batman's guidance after his parents' murder, would he have turned out the same?

"He wasn't as lucky as me, was he," Dick mumbled.

"No, I'm afraid not." Bruce paused. "Everyone deserves a second chance."

"I guess so. . . ." Dick sighed, looking up. "But I still don't like this."

"I'm not asking you to." Bruce looked towards the window. "I don't like it so much myself.

"Right now, when we have hardly any time before the next murder, the Riddler is our main hope."

* * *

Edward Nygma moved down the darkened halls of Arkham in the direction of the head psychiatrist's office. She had told him that the police had agreed to his terms (not that they had had much choice) and that he was being released. But it could not be something widely known, even by the other inmates. Because Edward had been so determined to catch the killer in the past, the knowledge that he would be involved again might draw the murderer out, and he might even kill earlier than on Friday in order to try to throw them off the trail.

So Edward was to report to Dr. Portman's office, as casually as if he was coming for another session. She would give him the release forms and he would be escorted out a back exit into a car.

He frowned as he arrived, looking at the painted name on the door: _Alice Portman_. A person he still did not trust. He should be grateful to her, for helping to convince the police that he would be able to leave, but he could not shake the nagging feeling that she was not interested in his well-being. She was in this for some reason of her own. Whenever he was in her office, he felt as though she was scrutinizing him or worse--that he was little more than an amoeba under a microscope.

Still, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. She was standing at her filing cabinet, looking over a folder. "Good, Mr. Nygma," she said, without looking up, "you're right on time. Here." She closed the file, straightening up as she walked over to him.

He accepted it, matching her ice green stare with his own dark green eyes. "I can't say I'm going to miss you, or this place," he commented, adopting a casual air.

"Then do try not to be back," Portman said. Reaching behind her desk, she produced a fancy brass staff with the top shaped like a question mark. "I believe this is yours." She held it out to him.

He grasped the cane, frowning in suspicion. "Why are you giving this back to me?" he asked.

"You may need it for self-defense," she said, letting go of it. "Of course you know if you use it for a purpose you shouldn't, you will be coming back here again."

"I know." He slung it over his left shoulder, still holding on to it. Then he began to turn, intending to go back out the door. She should not have returned it to him. Wasn't it along the same lines as returning a gun to a murderer? Or giving Arnold Wesker his puppet? He was grateful to have the cane back, but it only made her all the suspicious.

"I have to say, even though you won't miss anything here, I will find something lacking without our sessions," Portman said. "You are truly fascinating, Mr. Nygma."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Should you really be showing such favoritism?" he asked.

"Mere fact," she responded. "Goodbye, Mr. Nygma, and good luck."

He only gave a vague nod as he slipped out the door--and nearly bumped into a too-familiar black-cloaked figure looming over him. He looked up, changing gears to show the more obnoxious side of his personality to the Batman.

"I had the feeling you were going to show up, Batman," he said, pulling Portman's door shut behind him. "But I must say I'd been expecting it would be the police escorting me out."

"They're waiting at the back exit," Batman replied. "I'm here to make sure you get there without being seen." He frowned at the staff. No words were necessary to describe what he was thinking. "Another reward for good behavior?" he said, displeased.

A shrug. "Apparently," answered the Riddler. "The good doctor believes I am capable of having my property returned."

Batman narrowed his eyes. He wanted to speak to that psychiatrist himself. Commissioner Gordon had already expressed doubts about her methods. But for now he did not want to make a scene. The longer they stayed, the more chance there was of the Riddler being seen.

"Let's go," he said.

Agreeably Nygma began to walk down the dim hallway. Batman followed at a safe distance.

"The police expect you to give them directions to where you're keeping your research," he said. "No tricks."

"Of course." It annoyed Edward, to have to allow anyone to go there, but he knew they would not let him drive. He would have to compromise. At least he would have what he wanted most--the power and resources to go after the Friday Night killer once again. And he would have some level of freedom, too, though he would not consider it complete until this was over and the police left him alone.

"Even with all of my research, we might not catch the killer," he said now. "I wasn't able to in the past."

"This can't be a repeat of the past." Batman's voice left no room for arguments. "We can't let anyone else die."

"They might, anyway," Riddler said in an ambiguous voice.

Batman studied the other as they continued to walk. Was he really that nonchalant about the deaths, as long as they were people other than his uncle? Or was he acting this way because he wanted it to look like he did not care? Could there even be another reason?

"There's the police now," Nygma said, indicating the commissioner and two others by the door. "I suppose you'll be vanishing into the shadows again."

But Batman did not reply; he had already done so. Riddler shrugged to himself.

Gordon looked up as the Riddler approached. Behind his glasses, his eyes also narrowed at the presence of the staff. What was going on in this asylum? Were the patients any better off with this woman than they had been with Hugo Strange? At this point, the thought of the Joker being released with a full supply of Joker Gas did not seem any less preposterous. But, he supposed, he had to take into consideration that the Riddler was not insane, according to the doctors' reports. All of the psychiatrists agreed that the Joker most certainly was. Even so, it was still hard to comprehend that the Riddler had been given something that he had used as a weapon in many ways.

"Good evening, Commissioner," Nygma greeted, without waiting for the other to speak first. "I'm guessing you want this." He held out the folder.

Gordon took it, flipping it open and glancing over the release form inside. "Everything looks in order," he said brusquely.

One of the others present, an Asian-American with suspicious brown eyes and a familiar face, regarded the green-eyed man in disapproval. "Why are they letting you take that out of here?" she demanded, pointing at the cane. She had been asked to be present because out of everyone on the police force, she had had the most experience with the Riddler. She was not happy about the plan to let him go, but she had agreed. If he was plotting something underhanded, she hoped to be able to tell.

He smirked. "Not even a Hello, Yinsey?" he returned. "It's been so long, I was wondering what had happened to you."

Detective Ellen Yin glowered. "You don't act like you've changed, Riddler," she said. "I hope that for everyone's sake, this isn't going to be a waste of time."

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see," he purred. "When the Friday Night killer is brought down, maybe you'll sing a different tune."

The Riddler never said off-the-wall things like that unless it was part of a riddle. Yin's frown deepened. Now she would be trying to figure that one out for a while. And he would be feeling smug that he had once again made her think about something he had said.

Gordon closed the folder. "Let's go," he said. "The car is waiting right outside." He eyed the cane. Part of him wanted to tell the Riddler that it would have to be confiscated on the ride. There was always the chance that the man would try doing something foolish, such as knocking out the police with a sleeping gas concealed in the staff and then escaping in the unmarked car. But on the other hand, maybe he would be cooperative for now and it would be unfair to him to tell him that he could not have his cane now that he had been released and was technically free.

However, Gordon did not trust him and could not make himself do so. It was even more difficult when he acted the way he was right now.

"You don't have an ailment that makes it necessary to use your cane," he said at last, as they moved to the door. "I'm going to have to ask you to put it in the front of the car."

"You don't trust me, Commissioner?" the Riddler returned, still leaning the staff against his left shoulder as he reached for the doorknob. Yin grabbed it first, opening it slowly and revealing the sprawling backyard of Arkham Asylum. From her expression, she wanted to say something, but felt it was not her place to speak for the commissioner.

Gordon steeled his jaw as he walked out into the night and over to the car. "Only the police are supposed to have weapons in this car," he said.

"So does that mean that if the Batman rode with you, he would have to hand over all of his little gadgets?" Riddler remarked. He could see the dark knight now, up in a tree nearby. The long cape was blowing in the wind.

"Don't make this any more difficult than it is, Riddler," Yin spoke up now.

"Very well," the Riddler responded with an exaggerated air. As the silent policeman opened the car door, the raven-haired man climbed inside, lowering his lanky form onto the backseat. Then he carefully pushed his staff over the top of the seat in front of him, lowering it so that it was on the floor while being half-propped on the front seat.

"Thank you," the commissioner said, hoping his voice did not sound as weary as he felt. He climbed into the passenger seat. The quiet officer got into the back with the Riddler. Yin moved to the driver's seat and placed the key in the ignition.

Behind them, Batman continued to observe from the tree. So it was done. Now they had better not regret it. He would follow until they arrived at the location where the Riddler's research was being kept.

Somewhere else in the night, another set of eyes watched with interest.

"So," the figure mused, his voice a cruel whisper, "it's now time for round two. I've waited for this day, Eddie." Sharp eyes watched as the car began to drive away. "Can you catch me this time? Or will I catch you?" The lips pulled back, revealing yellowing teeth. "It would be so fitting to make you the next victim."

With that proclamation, the form faded into the darkness.


	3. Gotham City Grid

**Chapter Three**

Yin kept alert on the drive, following Riddler's directions as he gave them. They were going deep into the heart of downtown Gotham. Apparently Riddler's hideout was right in plain sight. And with his odd comment still in her mind, it was not a great surprise when the old Gotham Piano Company building came into view.

"This is our stop, right?" she said, her voice dry.

"Ooh, you're getting better, Yinsey," Riddler smirked.

Yin sighed, pulling the car into the parking lot. "I have to admit, this isn't among the places I'd think of where you'd want to hide out," she said.

"I'm quite cultured in certain aspects of the arts," Riddler said. "I can play the piano; I learned when I was a boy. But when it wasn't enough of a challenge for me, I moved on."

Gordon sighed too, massaging the bridge of his nose as he reached to open the car door. "Did you just go in through the front door when you used this place?" he asked.

"Usually the side door," Riddler answered. "Oh, and Commissioner, I'm going to need my cane. I have certain security codes programmed into it that will allow us entrance."

And why was that not a surprise? Gordon tiredly waved a hand. "Do what you have to do, Riddler," he said. "Just get us inside."

With a smirk Riddler opened the door on his side and eased himself out, then walked around to the front and reached for his cane. Yin, who was getting out the driver's side, just gave him a warning look. Ignoring it, he took up his staff and strolled around to the side of the building. Then he pressed a loose brick, hitting a button on his cane at the same time. A small machine whirred and came to life as it emerged from a compartment at eye level. As the police stared, what seemed to be a camera focused on Nygma's right eye. After a moment it clicked.

"Retina scan complete," a computerized female voice intoned. "Please place your right hand on the screen."

From beneath the first, a second machine came out of another panel. Nygma laid his hand on a small red screen as it beeped. After a moment it turned green.

"Identity confirmed," said the voice. "Please speak your name and enter."

"The Riddler," Nygma purred.

The door clicked and swung open. Edward stepped inside, seeming pleased with himself.

Yin narrowed her eyes. She did not want to feed his ego by saying anything, but she had been quite surprised by the modifications he had made to the building. Still, it should not be that much of a shock that he would secure any place he wanted to use as a hideout. She followed him inside, glancing around at the abandoned room. Pianos were everywhere, most of them dusty and old. Some remained unfinished or taken half apart. This room did not appear to be remodeled in any way, but knowing the Riddler, that was likely a front.

The quiet officer, who had been introduced in the car as Detective Burton, entered next. Commissioner Gordon lingered, looking out into the night. "Are you coming?" he asked the darkness. Once the door closed, the security system would lock into place again.

The Batman jumped down from the roof. "After you," he said.

Gordon walked inside. Batman held open the door just enough that he could slip in as well. Then it closed noiselessly behind him. He remained in the shadows, waiting to see what the Riddler would do next.

The lanky man crossed the floor, coming to the employees only area. A closed door blocked the path. He pressed another button on the cane. A second security system beeped to life and he went through the same process all over again, with one addition--a random puzzle appeared on the screen after he scanned his hand.

Yin frowned. "What's that for?" she demanded.

Riddler shrugged. "One final test of my identity," he said. His fingers flew over the screen, and in no time at all, the puzzle was complete. The door opened.

"The puzzle changes every time," Riddler said as he entered. "It wouldn't be any fun if it was always the same one."

Reaching to his right, he switched on the lights. A large and very modern room lit up, filled with computer screens and equipment. The Riddler moved to the largest screen at the back and pressed a button. The supercomputer began to boot up.

For the first time, Detective Burton spoke. "This is really amazing," he said in awe, staring around the room.

"Such redecorating wasn't a difficult task with my skills," said Nygma, though he was clearly pleased with the praise.

Yin crossed her arms. The Riddler most definitely had not changed. Learning the truth about the betrayal and spending time in Arkham had not humbled him. She had to wonder if anything could.

With the supercomputer fully loaded, Nygma leaned forward and grabbed the mouse, clicking an icon of a file folder. In response, it gave him a password prompt. He tapped it in before anyone had the chance to see what it was, and then the computer's files and folders loaded. Searching through them, he chose one marked "Serial Killer."

"Let me show you something curious," Riddler said. He opened the folder, then clicked a file. A graph loaded, filling the screen.

Watching from the shadows, Batman frowned too. It was Gotham City, mapped out in grid form. There were eight rows, with each one containing eight squares. Small red X's marked certain spots, mainly on the right side of the picture but occasionally coming closer to the center. The left side, however, specifically the two rows to the far left, were bare.

"Look at this," Riddler said, pointing to the right side of the screen. "I took the liberty of making a map of where each victim three years ago was found. There were always quite varied locations, true, but they were mainly on one side of the city."

"Yes," Gordon said, "I remember that. Everyone on the case had been looking for a pattern, maybe some kind of design or message the killer was trying to leave. No one could find anything."

"You were looking too hard," Riddler said. "The solution was actually quite different--so simple and yet so complex. Look," he said again, raising a thin finger to point at several of the grid boxes. "Each victim was found precisely in the area contained in one of these boxes. The second to the last row on the right had two of them. The last row had two bodies as well, but the two center boxes remained vacant. Then the rest of the victims were found in the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth rows. Does this remind you of anything?"

Gordon glowered at the screen. This was bringing back so many memories from three years ago--how everyone had agonized over what the killer was doing and why, and if there was a pattern that they just could not see. . . . And then the murders had stopped. They had still wanted to catch the killer, of course, but current cases had taken precedence and the Friday Night killer mystery had been shoved to the side.

"It's a chessboard," Batman spoke up, stepping out from the shadows. The quiet officer started, staring with wide eyes, but none of the others were surprised at his appearance. Since Gordon had gone public with his support of the Batman some time ago, there had been a shaky truce between Batman and the police. Some of them trusted him and some of them did not, but they abided by the commissioner's decision. Batman still preferred operating from the shadows, which was the main reason for having largely stayed out of sight tonight, but he had decided that it was time to make his presence known.

"Ah, Batman, I was sure you would figure it out," Riddler smirked, not bothering to turn around. "Yes, it's a chessboard. The two bodies left in these squares were likely meant to be pawns," he said, indicating the second to last row. "In the back row, there's a knight and a bishop gone. The other 'pieces', if you will, are the ones branched out all over the board."

"And the fact that the two rows on the left are untouched means that the killer is saying his side hasn't been breached," Batman said.

"But we were getting close," Riddler said. "Hence, why victims were found up to the sixth row."

Yin stared at the grid. What Riddler was saying could very well be the explanation. This was a sick man they were dealing with. If he was deliberately killing people to make an elaborate chessboard, what could possibly be his motivation? Was there any? Or was this a horrific game for no reason at all?

"One other thing," Riddler said. "The ones that weren't in their 'places' on the board were left on squares corresponding with how their assigned characters move in chess. For instance, I can tell that this one was supposed to be the other bishop, because of the diagonal position relative to the bishop's spot on the board." Quickly he typed into the computer. "I programmed information about every victim into the map, showing where each person was found and what their role was supposed to be."

Small pictures of each victim appeared in the grid squares. When Riddler hovered the mouse's cursor over each one, more information about each person was displayed in a yellow rectangle.

"Which one is your uncle?" Gordon asked.

Riddler's eyes hardened. "This one," he said in a voice to match. He brought the cursor over to a photograph of a distinguished-looking man with short black hair and a brown business suit. The expression was serious, yet congenial.

Yin studied the picture. The only real resemblance to the man sitting in front of her was the dark hair and green eyes. He looked like someone who had been happy with life and had been an upright, honest citizen. How had his nephew turned out so different?

"He's here," Riddler continued, breaking into her thoughts as he indicated the map. "He's in the position of the second knight."

Batman came closer, studying the grid with narrowed eyes. "The next question is Why," he said. "No one was ever able to find the connection between the victims."

"If there's one at all," Yin said.

"There is a connection," Riddler said. "But that's something that still has to be determined. None of these people even know each other, that I can tell. I did extensive research on each one." He glanced over his shoulder. "Commissioner, I need the reports on the three victims that have just turned up. If I can put them into place in the grid, that may help narrow down how many 'pieces' there are left, as well as the possible locations where their bodies may be taken."

"We need to figure out where he actually kills," Batman said. "Since it isn't always in the squares where the bodies are found."

"Do you think he kills in one spot?" Gordon asked, looking to him. "Surely we would have found it by now."

"He may have two or three favorite spots," Batman said. "It all comes back to why he chooses the people he does."

"And also whether the king and queen pieces are still alive," Riddler said. "If he's playing by the rules of the game, they must be--at least the king. I believe I've been able to identify all of the pieces used so far, which would leave the queen alive too."

"And if the people are serving a specific purpose, who is the king?" Yin wondered.

Riddler leaned back. "You might think that the king would be someone in a high position in the city," he said. "But judging from the wide variety of victims and lifestyles, I can't say whether that would be true or not. The first knight, for instance, was a homeless drug addict."

Gordon glowered at the grid. So now there were more answers, but more questions, too. But then he blinked, a new thought occurring to him.

"Wait," he said. "If these two empty rows are the killer's 'side of the board', shouldn't his hideout be through there somewhere? Such as in the square where the king is?"

"That was his hideout at one point," the Riddler replied. "That was the one I found. A deathtrap had been set for me inside."

"For you?" Yin's eyes narrowed. "Specifically you, or just any intruders in general?"

"Specifically me," was the answer. "He knew I was on to him. He left one or two recorded messages in an electronically disguised voice."

Yin could not help thinking of the irony of the Riddler being caught in a deathtrap. "Did the messages leave any clues?" she asked.

"They were taunts," said the Riddler. "And they contained clues for solving the deathtrap. Not riddles, but clues. I solved them easily, of course. At the end of the maze I escaped with my life and the building self-detonated."

"Of course!" Now Gordon's eyes showed remembrance. "The abandoned warehouse bombing. No one was able to figure that one out, either. It was never connected with the Friday Night killer."

"It was after that when the killing stopped," Riddler remembered. "I'd briefly entertained the idea that the man had blown himself up, but I rejected it. I was convinced that he would return sometime."

"But why did he stop?" Yin wondered. "What was happening around that time that could have prevented him?"

"It could have been something in his own life. Maybe he was even arrested for a different crime." Riddler brought the tips of his fingers together. "I spent weeks looking for him, but I could never pin down any suspects. I finally had to turn my attention to . . . other matters." From the way he said it, it was clear that he meant matters involving Batman, and probably Gorman as well.

Gordon decided to ignore it. "I want a printout of all of this information and this map," he said. "I also want a hard disk copy."

"Certainly, Commissioner." Riddler pressed a button on the console. Across the room, a large color printer whirred to life. Pressing other buttons resulted in the machine beginning to spit out the requested pages.

"Would you get those, Yinsey?" Riddler said. "You're closer."

Yin frowned at him, but walked to the printer and took the sheets as they emerged. Then she crossed the room to Commissioner Gordon, holding up the printouts for him to see. He looked them over, making sure all was in order, and slowly nodded.

"I'll get the other reports to you in the morning," he said to the Riddler.

The raven-haired man nodded as well. "Then I believe we've gone over everything we can for now," he said. "I suppose you're all exhausted. It _is_ almost two in the morning."

No wonder he felt like a train wreck, Gordon decided.

"Fine," he said. "We'll get some sleep so we'll be able to tackle this with fresh minds."

With that, the police began to depart from the back room. Yin approached Commissioner Gordon once they were in the piano showroom again.

"Sir, are you planning to leave someone here to watch the Riddler?" she asked.

He sighed. "I was thinking I should," he said, "but I doubt he'll try to go anywhere."

She nodded. "I'll stay anyway," she volunteered. "I've been involved with trying to stop several of his schemes in the past."

He looked at her. She looked ready to drop herself.

"That's alright," he said. "You just get some rest yourself, Yin."

She shook her head. "I'm fine, sir," she said. Her eyes, though tired, were filled with determination.

And finally he nodded his consent. "Alright. But call for someone to relieve you when you've had enough," he said.

That would probably be within the first five minutes, she thought, half in sarcasm. But she nodded. "Of course. Thank you, sir."

He nodded, crossing to the door. Opening it, he stepped outside, followed by Detective Burton.

Yin sighed to herself, looking around the dark showroom.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Batman had lingered for a few minutes to speak with the Riddler in private, but soon he had departed as well, leaving the green-eyed man alone with his technology. And even he was growing weary. After placing the supercomputer on standby, he crossed the room to a soft couch and sank onto it. Within five minutes he had fallen asleep.

_"Ed?"_

It was his uncle's voice, echoing through the darkness of his mind. But when he tried to respond, he was powerless to do so.

_"Don't try to catch this guy for the wrong reasons. This is a big step for you, Ed, being able to get back into society and all. You don't need to take revenge for what happened to me. Catch this guy to save the others who could die. I know you care, Ed--no matter how much you want to make people think you don't. You probably won't even let yourself realize it, will you? But I know how you are; you feel like you have a responsibility to protect them because of what you know about this madman. And I know you can do it. You've already put together a lot of the pieces. Keep working with Batman and the police, too. You make a good team."_

He started awake. For a moment the green plush he was staring at bewildered him. But then the last remnants of sleep faded. He was looking at the back of the couch. Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled as he rolled onto his back.

He was alone in the room, of course. He believed in cold, hard logic, not the supernatural. Yet that experience had felt so real. It had been as if his uncle had been right there, talking to him.

He pulled himself into a sitting position and then stood. It was too late at night to think about this.

With a sigh he crossed the room to the supercomputer. It had come back online, displaying activity in the other part of the building and on the grounds. It was only a stray cat wandering the parking lot. But it was Detective Yin in the showroom. She was aimlessly traveling the room, looking at each piano. When she came to one that seemed intact, she randomly touched several keys to test the tune.

He pressed a button, putting himself over the speaker system. "Are you bored, Yinsey?" he purred.

She started, frowning as she looked around the room for the source of his voice. Usually he had a screen or a holographic projection of himself. Now there was only his disembodied voice.

"I figured you'd be spying, Riddler," she said.

"And I knew the commissioner was going to leave someone to watch me," he said, "but I didn't think it would be you." He leaned back. "You won't learn much of anything in there. Why not come back here where you can actually see what I'm doing?"

"Thanks," she said without meaning it, "but I'll just keep patrolling from out here."

"As you wish," he said, and she could almost sense the shrug.

He reached over, muting the speakers. He really was exhausted. Maybe he would try to go back to sleep. He could not do much more about the case until he had those other reports. All things considered, it would not be a good idea to hack into the police computers to get them.

He had not fully processed yet that he had been released. As he had suspected, it did not feel much like freedom with the police hanging around. Once they had what they wanted from him, they would hopefully not keep watch on him like this. Of course, he could depart from the room any time he wanted and not be noticed, due to the secret exit he had installed, but he would be good for now and not use it. He had no reason to at the moment.

If later there came a break in the case, maybe it would be different.

Leaving the computer online this time, he returned to the couch and laid down, staring up at the ceiling. In spite of being so weary, he would be surprised if sleep came soon. There was so much on his mind now--not only the case, but memories of his uncle.

After he had been arrested for stealing several years ago, his uncle had been disappointed in him but had remained supportive and had visited him whenever possible. Once he had been released, he never would have been able to get into the university if not for his uncle's determination to help him have a better life. Then so much had happened at once--he had been betrayed, his reputation had been destroyed, and the university had no longer allowed him to remain. His uncle had protested, insisting that Edward had not created a flawed product and that he should be given another chance, but to no avail. Right on the hills of that, his uncle had been murdered by the Friday Night killer. And the Batman had appeared as a worthy opponent for his riddles.

He rolled onto his side, facing the back of the couch again. He had made such a trainwreck out of his life. If, by some odd chance, he actually had heard his uncle speaking to him in his dream, why was the man still being encouraging? How could he be, after everything his nephew had done and had become?

He could not even honestly say he was sorry for all of it. He enjoyed his times as the Riddler. Challenging Batman was always a thrill. That, he supposed, was perhaps the main motivation behind many of his schemes--even though it would have been nice to have completed them anyway.

Was his uncle right and he did care about the other possible victims of the Friday Night killer?

That was a riddle even he could not yet answer.

* * *

At some point during his monologue, he must have fallen asleep, even though he did not remember it. Suddenly he was opening his eyes as the computer announced an incoming email. When he rolled over to look, the clock declared the time as being seven-thirty in the morning. He had slept for perhaps five hours, maybe a little less.

But it did not feel as though he had gotten much rest. His body was weary and aching. Muttering to himself, he sat up before rising and moving slowly to the computer. Who on earth would be sending him an email? He had not even given his address to the police yet. Grabbing the mouse, he clicked on the notification. The message sprang onto the screen. He could only stare in shock.

_Greetings, Riddler! Are you good to go for round two of our little game? It's always impressed me, _

_how you figured out what my pattern meant. But now the question becomes, Can you do anything about it?_

_By now, of course, you know how much I despise Friday nights. But I despise you even more. And I know how_

_you love playing for something real. What do you say we up the ante? I will begin removing pieces from the_

_board every night this week, instead of just on Friday. Your goal is not only to prevent this, but to find me and_

_stop it altogether! If you can._

_The Chessmaster_

Dark green eyes narrowed in fury and outrage. So somehow his release had been discovered by the killer, even though the police had tried to keep it secret. And it sounded as though the murderer had some kind of personal vendetta against him. Why? Because he had gotten close to the truth in the past? He was the only one who had ever found the original hideout.

And the killer himself must be excellent at electronics, considering the deathtrap he had installed in that old hideout--as well as this discovery that he had found the Riddler's email address.

Ordinarily he might be exhilarated at the thought of this game, if the stakes were not so high. Now the responsibility on his shoulders was far greater than before. Someone would die each day until the insanity was brought to a halt. Even though his own games had been twisted, they had not been anything like this. He was not a mass murderer.

He switched the view on the screen to the security cameras. Detective Yin had fallen asleep in an old chair, her head turned to the side.

Again he pressed the speaker button. "Oh Yinsey?" he called.

The woman started, her eyes flying open as she nearly tipped out of the chair.

"Why don't you come back here this time?" he continued. "There's something here you really should see."


	4. Monday, Monday

**Chapter Four**

It was not long before the police were back at the Riddler's hideout. Batman came as well, of course, despite the late hour for him and the probability that he had not gotten much, if any, sleep. But if he was exhausted, he showed no signs of it.

By then the Riddler had already tried tracing the email, and had discovered it had been sent from a computer at an all-night Internet café in the bad part of town. Most likely the killer had first gotten Riddler's email address using his own technology, and then had opted to send the email from a highly public area to make discovering him that much more difficult. Even so, it was a lead, and it had to be followed.

But as Nygma had predicted, it did little good. There were seven computers throughout the café, all currently occupied. And the harried clerk could not tell Nygma or anyone else about who had been using the stations twenty to thirty minutes earlier. In frustration the group reconvened at the piano store.

"That," said the Riddler in annoyance, as he led them back inside, "was an immense waste of time. I hope you brought the reports from the recent murders, Commissioner?"

"Right here," Gordon answered, holding up three folders.

"I was thinking about the murders three years ago," Batman spoke. "Altogether, there were eight."

"That's right," the Riddler said, taking the folders from Gordon. "And now there have been three more, with five planned for the next few days."

"Which add up to another eight," Batman said.

Yin's eyes widened. "Sixteen murders in all," she breathed. "That covers all the pieces on one half of a chessboard."

Batman nodded. "Three years ago, he stopped when he was halfway done," he said. "But there's still the question of Why."

"And why did he pick now to start again?" the Riddler mused. After flipping through the reports, he walked back to the supercomputer and sat down. Bringing up a folder marked "Victims", he began to type. The others stood by, watching as he entered the locations where the latest three bodies had been found. The computer beeped, scurrying to process the information and align it in the grid.

Batman narrowed his eyes. He already knew the locations, due to having gone over the reports before, but he had not considered the chessboard angle previously and it was quite a different perspective. He should have picked up on it, he told himself, and it was inexcusable that he had not. The only explanation he could find for not having discovered the possibility was that he had not been much into games at that time. That had been before he had defeated the childish Cluemaster at his own twisted game.

"Riddler," he said now, "why do you think this Chessmaster is targeting you? He says he despises you even more than Fridays. Are you sure that's just because you got so close to the truth?"

The painted lips turned down in a scowl. "I've been trying to think if anyone I know could have moonlighted as such a character," Riddler told him. "No one stands out in my mind."

"Maybe someone else needs to take a look," Batman said. He could not forget how the Riddler had been so blinded by his feelings for Julie that he had never considered that she was the most likely suspect in the sabotage incident. It could happen again. The Riddler would not even have to like the person who might be the Friday Night killer; maybe it would be someone who had been so dull in his mind that he would never have thought that person could be a ruthless murderer.

"You want me to tell you my life story, Batman?" Riddler sneered.

"If that's what it takes," Batman returned.

"I already told you a good deal of it," Riddler said.

"But not about all of the people you know," Batman said. "It could even be someone you only talked to once or twice."

"Then I likely wouldn't remember them unless something about them stood out," was the reply.

Now Riddler pressed the final button. The updated grid spread across the screen, with three new X's in place. The raven-haired man leaned forward, frowning at the sight.

"This one was a rook," he said, pointing to a space on the row at the far right.

"And this one was a pawn," Batman added, indicating another spot.

"The remaining one was yet another pawn," Riddler said, slumping back into the seat.

"Alright," Yin said. "What does it mean?"

"Let's count them up," Riddler said. "All knights and bishops are gone, along with one rook. The rest are all pawns."

"Six pawns," Batman frowned. "That leaves two, plus one rook, the queen, and the king."

Yin crossed her arms. "Would he go after another pawn already when he's killed two?" she wondered.

"The order seems to be purely random," Riddler said, "just like his victims. Though I do wonder if he's saving the king and queen for the last."

Gordon's frustration was beginning to build even more. "Even if we have police stationed at the remaining vacant squares on the two rows on the right, that doesn't mean any of those locations are where the bodies will be placed," he said. "What if they're more victims who will be on squares corresponding to their 'pieces' movements?"

"Therefore, we also have to watch all of those squares," Riddler said.

"And we still don't even know where he might be planning to kill someone!" Yin exclaimed in anger.

For a moment there was silence. Then the Riddler straightened in the chair.

"What if the location of the Internet café is a clue?" he mused. "Maybe he'll strike in that general area."

"Or maybe it's a diversion meant to lead us away from the real scene of the murder," Batman said.

Yin looked to him. "Which would be what?" she asked.

"I don't know," Batman said.

"We can't spread out over the entire city," Gordon objected. "There aren't enough police who would be free for that."

"Then we'll do what we can," the Riddler said. "Batman and I will be staking out locations as well. And what about your little friend the Boy Wonder?" he added, looking to Batman.

"He'll be there too," Batman replied.

* * *

Out of the places needing to be watched, one was another section of the Gotham pier--which was not that far from the Internet café. After discovering that, the Riddler seemed all the more sure that it might be the location of the next murder. Batman had consented that it was possible, and that the location needed to be watched--hence, how he found himself there towards evening.

"You don't think we've already missed the murder, do you?" Robin asked over the comlink. While Batman was waiting near the café, Robin had taken up position at the docks. Everything seemed eerily calm. Even the water barely moved. But that only served to make Robin all the more worried.

"No," Batman said. "The autopsies show the murders are always committed at night."

"Yeah, but they also used to only be on _Friday_ nights," Robin reminded him. "Do you think the guy would've speeded things up if we hadn't freed the Riddler?"

"That really doesn't matter now," Batman said. "The Riddler has provided us with a great deal of information, just as the police had hoped he could."

"And it sounds like maybe we played right into the Chessmaster's hands," Robin grumbled. "He wanted Riddler to get out! This is probably some kind of personal grudge match between them."

"Riddler doesn't know who the killer is," Batman said. "If he does, he doesn't know he knows."

"That's _if_ he's telling the truth," Robin replied. "He's probably thrilled at the idea of playing another game with this twisted guy."

"Riddler's not happy about this," Batman told him. "He won't say it, but it's easy to tell he's angry.

"I don't want to talk about this any more right now."

Robin blew out his breath in frustration. "I just don't want everyone to make a big mistake!" he protested. Or rather, he did not want _Batman_ to make a big mistake--one that could end up seriously costing him. That thought scared Robin more than he would even admit to himself.

"I know," was the answer. "But we're able to make our own decisions.

"I see something moving in the shadows. I'm going to have a look."

"Okay. Let me know."

Robin sighed to himself as he turned his attention away from the comlink. Was it really such a bad thing, that he was not crazy about the idea of working with the Riddler? Every way he looked at it, it was a horrible idea. And even if nothing actually went wrong because of the alliance, the police were going to have to let the Riddler go free at the end. He would not pay for his crimes. Well, Robin knew the idea was that helping to catch a far more dangerous man was considered the payment, but it was hard for him to accept that--especially when the Riddler's motivation was not to make amends for what he himself had done, but simply wanting revenge against the killer.

Still, the Riddler was not the most treacherous villain they had ever encountered, and certainly not the most dangerous, either. But it was just against the Boy Wonder's code of ethics to trust a criminal.

He also puzzled over what Batman had told him that night, after the Riddler had been knocked senseless by the laser cannon he had been trying to use on Julie. The man had looked so helpless, trapped under the thing. Robin had not even been sure at first that the Riddler was still alive. But Batman had seemed to know. Standing in the doorway, he had observed the scene as he had posed the bewildering question to Robin.

_"When is a villain not _the_ villain?"_

Batman had fixed a silently accusing stare on Julie at that moment. And though the Riddler had been consumed by such a frenzied anger moments before, a lone tear had slipped from his eye. Even Julie had seemed affected by that.

Robin had the feeling that Batman pitied the Riddler to some extent, and perhaps even understood him--which was something Robin was sure he could never do himself. And in spite of that, even Batman had not seemed pleased about the police releasing the criminal from Arkham. So Robin used that as a rationale for his own distrusting feelings--though those feelings were accompanied by the bitterness that deeply concerned Batman.

. . . Was the real problem that, deep down, Robin feared maybe the police would someday turn to Tony Zucco for help? What if they wanted to bring down a mob boss who was still at large and they decided Zucco had the most information on him? Zucco was completely unrepentant. He would go along just to get his revenge on a rival--and of course, to get out of jail. Then he would be out on the streets again and surely go back to his old ways. What if someone else lost their family because of him?

Robin glowered at the darkness. Everything was still way too quiet. Maybe the murder was going to be committed somewhere else. Or maybe it was even a sick setup and nothing was going to happen.

Now it sounded like a motor off somewhere in the distance. Was it on the water? Maybe it was a boat.

Behind the mask, his eyes widened. What if it was the killer coming to drop the body into the bay? He had to be stopped.

Without another thought, Robin leaped off the roof of the warehouse. "Batman!" he called into the comlink. "Someone's out on Gotham Bay. I'm going to check it out."

There was a short silence. "Alright," Batman said then. "Be careful."

He sounded occupied, so Robin opted not to ask what was going on there. Instead he landed on a crate and then jumped to the dock, running to the edge where other motorboats were gently bobbing on the water's surface. Now it was obvious that the sound he was hearing was a boat on the water, and it seemed to be coming to the edge of the pier. Maybe he should hide in the shadows and wait.

After a moment, the boat pulled up alongside the others and the engine was cut. A tall figure emerged, stepping onto the dock. With a flourish he anchored the boat and then turned, moving to walk up the pier. As he stepped into the light of the moon, Robin's mouth dropped open. It was Gorman! But how was that possible? He had been captured and taken to jail!

Deciding that this had gone far enough, Robin sprang out of the shadows and into the stunned businessman's path. "Hold it right there!" he cried.

Gorman stared. "What is this?!" he demanded. "Gotham's crawling with freaks!" He took a good look at Robin. "Now even the kids are getting into the act. Go on, go play somewhere else," he said, waving his hand in a dismissive way. "I'm a busy man."

"You're also supposed to be an incarcerated man!" Robin exclaimed.

"So my lawyer got me off," Gorman answered impatiently. "They didn't have enough to hold me. Look, little boy, I don't have time for this." Again he tried to walk past.

"'Little boy'?!" Robin cried in indignation. He kept himself firmly planted in front of Gorman as he continued to speak. "Okay, look. There's a murder going to be committed tonight. People are stationed everywhere trying to stop it. And you're right here at one of the places where it might happen!"

For a moment Gorman looked stunned. Then the annoyed look returned. "Okay, kid, you've had your joke," he said. "Why don't you go put the costume away until it's Halloween? But don't come to my door expecting any candy from me."

"I bet you don't give candy to anyone," Robin retorted. "Unless maybe you have them pay you something for it. And if you don't believe me about what's going on, why don't you try asking Batman? Or the police?"

"Batman! I should've known that freak would be involved." Gorman reached out, shoving Robin to the side with a strong hand. "I don't want to be mixed up in anything of his. And I definitely don't need to be anywhere that a murder's going to be. I've got enough bad publicity right now as it is." With that he walked on, his steps increasing in his hurry to get away.

Robin gritted his teeth. What should he do now? He was supposed to watch for the murderer. And surely it could not be Gorman, could it? He probably had a strong dislike of the Riddler, but he would not have the technological knowledge to hack into and discover a highly-protected email address. Nor did he seem like the serial killer type.

Though, really, what _was_ the serial killer type? It could be anyone. And it was weird that Gorman had been out so late in a motorboat, especially if he had just gotten out of jail. He was wearing a business suit; he was not dressed for a pleasure trip.

"Batman!" Robin called into the comlink. "There's a problem down here."

"There's one here, too," Batman immediately replied, his voice grim.

"Did you find the killer?!" Robin exclaimed.

"No," Batman said. "Some people coming out of the café decided to pick a fight with me. I have to wonder if it was a deliberate distraction."

"That's bizarre!" Robin frowned. "And over here, Gorman showed up. I thought sure he was in jail!"

Batman sighed. "He was, but his lawyer pulled some strings and got him out," he said. "There's been so many other things going on that I haven't thought much about it."

"Well, he was out on the water in a motorboat!" Robin told him. "And he's wearing a business suit. What could he have been doing out there?"

"I don't know." There was a pause. "Where is he now?"

"Just walking up the pier," Robin said. "I didn't know if I should follow him or not. Do you think maybe he could be the guy we're looking for?"

"No," Batman said. But then a new thought occurred to him. "There's a chance that he could be the intended victim," he realized.

"No way!" Robin was stunned. He had not even considered that possibility before.

"Follow him," Batman said. "I'll come down there to take over your post. The police are here to pick up the troublemakers."

"Right. I'll let you know what happens!" Robin said. Quickly he ended the communication, hurrying after the unlikable businessman. Gorman probably had plenty of enemies who would like to get rid of him, but why would the serial killer choose him for a victim? They still had not determined what connection there could be between the victims, if there was any at all.

"Well, I know you're not gonna be grateful for this, but I have to protect you anyway," Robin muttered. "It's a hero thing."

* * *

Of the remaining places that were being watched, the Riddler had chosen a quiet neighborhood that had once been fairly nice but now was suffering degradation due to gang violence. He kept to himself in the shadows, wandering the streets as he looked for anything amiss. His staff was being carried in his right hand, just in case he would need it.

"Everything is quiet here, Yinsey," he said into the comlink he had been given. "What about where you are?"

"There isn't any sign of criminal activity here," Yin answered. She was stationed a few blocks over, in the area where the next grid square began. It was a slightly better neighborhood, though being so close to the bad part of town led most people to ensure that their doors were locked and security systems were installed.

"Maybe the actual crime is taking place somewhere else," Riddler said.

"Or maybe it isn't late enough," Yin returned. "Wait--a dark car just passed the block for the second time in the last ten minutes. The driver acts like he's looking for something."

"The right place to drop a body, perhaps?" Riddler mused.

"Or the right person to kill," Yin said. "But if they're looking for someone, they're out of luck. The only person out is . . ."

But she was interrupted as the strange car opened fire. With a gasp she ducked down, placing a hand over the back of her neck as the windshield shattered above her. In a flash her gun was drawn and she was raising up just enough to fire back through the open space. She was aiming for a tire, but the other car swerved too fast. The bullet bounced off the asphalt as the vehicle traveled to be behind her car.

"Yin?"

She ignored the Riddler's voice as her sudden enemy now fired at the back windshield. Again she fell flat onto the front seat, her eyes narrowing in frustration. "I'm going to have whoever that is pay the bill," she muttered to herself.

There was a screech of tires as the strange car spun around again. When Yin dared to look up, it was speeding in the opposite direction, determined to get off this street and out of sight.

"You're not getting away on my watch," she vowed. Straightening into the driver's seat again, she turned the ignition and stepped hard on the accelerator. Then she turned her own car around. The other vehicle's taillights were just vanishing around the corner. Gripping the steering wheel, she moved to follow.

"Yin! Are you alright?"

At last she took note of the man on the other end of the comlink--and the fact that for the moment he had dropped the teasing nickname. "I'm fine, Riddler," she replied. "I don't know whether that was our killer or not, but he wasn't happy about being watched." She kept the car in sight as it twisted to the left. "He might be coming your way in a few minutes."

Riddler smirked. "Good. Try to force him to come here if he suddenly changes his mind. I'll make sure to have a surprise waiting."

"Riddler . . ."

"Trust me, Yinsey," the man purred.

Yin gritted her teeth in frustration. Right now she did not have much of a choice.

If someone had told her five days ago that she would be working with the Riddler to catch a serial killer, she would have thought them nuts. Now she had to wonder if she was the one losing it.

Up ahead, the car changed direction again. Though it was on the left side of the street, it abruptly swerved and chose the right at the next corner. The houses were getting older and not as neat now. He was playing right into their hands. Or was he? Maybe this was a trap.

Yin's eyes widened at the thought. "Riddler, you may be in danger too," she said.

No response.

"Riddler!" she cried, her voice gaining an edge. She did _not_ need this right now!

And without warning a figure leaped out of a nearby tree, landing on the hood of the rogue vehicle when it slowed due to a parked car being in its way. The moon caught a glint from a brass staff as it was swung at the car's windshield. The driver yelped in shock and disbelief, cowering as the breaking glass went in every direction.

Riddler reached through the opening, grabbing for the man's gun while holding the sharp point of the question mark crook at the thick neck. The shooter cursed him, wanting to snatch back his weapon but not daring.

Yin leaped out of her own car, her gun held high. "This is the police," she declared. "You're under arrest."

The man cursed her too. "I ain't done nothin'," he protested.

"Would you like me to recite the list?" she retorted. "I'll be sending you a bill for the car."

"What about _my_ car?" he snapped. "Your partner busted the windshield."

Riddler gave him an amused look. Yin was not amused.

"He's not my partner," she said. "You have the right to remain silent. . . ."

But before she could continue, the door on the driver's side flung open, striking her hard enough that she crashed to the pavement. His concentration broken, Riddler's position with the staff wavered. The man grabbed it, shoving it back in an attempt to get the lanky man to fall off the hood. But he did not stick around to see if it worked. Instead he leaped out the open door, beginning to flee down the street.

Yin pushed herself into a sitting position and then off the ground as she gave chase. Before he had gotten far, she was tackling him from behind, bringing him to the road. He yelled and swore, struggling against her as he began to kick himself free.

Then something hard came down on his head. Spots and stars swirled in front of his eyes before he collapsed limply to the ground. The Riddler stood over him, spinning the cane in his hand as though he was trying to imitate Clint Eastwood with a gun.

"Well," he smirked, "are you going to complain about me having my cane now?"

She pushed herself to her knees, grabbing the unconscious man's beefy arms as she wrenched them behind his back. "What you did was reckless," she said, snapping on the handcuffs. "What if he had decided to drive anyway, with you on the hood?"

"I would have jumped off," he replied.

"You might not have had the chance," she said. "The car might have shot over the speed limit to make sure you would fall off. You could have been seriously hurt or even killed."

And she would have been responsible. As long as they were both in the immediate vicinity, she was the one supposed to keep track of what the Riddler was up to. She had not really wanted for them to split up in the first place, but she had conceded that it was necessary in order to cover more ground.

"Oh, I didn't know you cared, Yinsey," Riddler smiled.

Yin gave him a look of annoyance, but before she could think of a comeback, the comlink beeped.

"Yin. Where are you?" Batman's voice asked.

She came to attention. "Riddler and I are still in Garcia Heights," she said. "Someone shot at me and we apprehended him, but I don't think he's the killer."

"I don't think so, either." Batman sounded cold.

Suddenly Yin knew what he was going to say. "You've found a body, haven't you?" she said, her own voice growing grim.

"Yes," Batman said. "It's a guard from Arkham Asylum."


	5. Phone Calls

**Notes: Many thanks to Kaze for plot help!**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Within thirty minutes, Yin had examined the strange man's car--finding nothing of value--and had delivered him to the station. (He had awakened along the way and had spent part of the time cursing both her and the Riddler, until the Riddler had threatened to strike him again. That had left the gunman in a state of sullen silence.) Then, after picking up a better car to use, she and the Riddler headed for the scene of the murder. They were both mostly quiet on the way, each involved in their own thoughts.

The area in question was in the corner of the Gotham City park. Police were standing around a bench where yellow crime scene tape had been placed. Batman was also there, his eyes narrowed as he looked on.

Yin hurried over to him, Riddler following close behind. "What happened here?" she demanded.

"The body was found sitting up on the bench," Batman told her. "The piece of newspaper was being held in his hand, probably put there after his death. He was stabbed in the heart."

"And glued onto the paper were newspaper letters that said 'Four more pieces, Riddler,'" Commissioner Gordon added angrily. "How did this happen? This section was being watched!"

"The officer patrolling the park said he'd heard gunshots at the other end," Batman said. "But when he got there, no one was around. Then he came back and found the body."

"So he has at least one accomplice," Gordon said.

"Maybe two," Yin said. "I still don't know about the guy who killed my windshield."

"Which guard was it?" Nygma spoke at last.

Gordon looked to him. "He was IDed as Artie Baldwin," he said.

"I suppose we won't know if the body was moved a great distance until the autopsy." Nygma's voice and facial expression gave no indication of what he was thinking. He seemed unaffected, as usual.

Batman nodded. "But it's probable that it wasn't too far away," he said. "It might have been in another part of the park."

"It's strange if he went to a great deal of trouble to kill that man," said Nygma. "That particular guard was the main one I interacted with the times I was at Arkham."

All eyes looked to him. "Could the killer have known that?" Yin exclaimed.

"I guess that would depend on who he is," Nygma answered.

"What if he was another inmate?" Yin suggested. "Maybe he stopped killing three years ago because he was incarcerated in Arkham."

"An enemy of mine from there, perhaps?" Riddler mused. "There was more than one inmate who strongly disliked me."

"Do you remember who they were?" Yin asked.

Riddler shrugged. "One of them was . . . Barry, I believe," he said. "A tall, muscular blond. If I recall correctly, he was angry at me because I was more notorious than he." He placed his hand on his chin, looking thoughtful. "Then there was Jonas, who I think was part of a mob family."

Yin looked at him in disbelief. "What did _he_ have against you?!" she exclaimed.

A smirk spread over the Riddler's features. "I once stole some information that Jonas' family wanted."

Yin frowned, folding her arms. Did this man have no shame?

"Was there anyone else?" Batman asked, clearly unimpressed.

"Hmm. . . . I remember Hank and Joe," Riddler said. "They didn't like me because I existed."

"Do you have last names for any of these people?" Batman wanted to know.

"I barely remember their first names," Riddler said. "They were nothing to me."

Yin looked him up and down, unable to help wondering if any of those people had ever tried to pick a fight with him. The first one that had been mentioned, at least, sounded as though he would be capable of breaking this slender man in half.

"Obviously, you weren't nothing to them," Batman said. "Would any of them have the skills needed to pull off these murders?"

Riddler shrugged. "Hank was terrible at chess, I remember that much," he said. "He was unable to grasp the rules. He couldn't even play checkers very well. Barry was more interested in weights than intellect. And Jonas believed a gun solved any problem."

"What about Joe?" Yin asked, wondering how on earth someone could fail at playing checkers.

The man paused, staring off into the distance. "He _might_ be a possibility," he said. "I remember he played backgammon at Arkham, so maybe he liked chess too."

He looked to Batman. "Where's your sidekick?" he inquired.

"Robin was following someone else we thought might be the target," Batman said. "I contacted him and told him the murder had been committed elsewhere, so he should be coming back soon."

Yin blinked in surprise. "Who was he following?" she wondered.

Batman deliberately looked to the Riddler as he replied. "Charles Gorman."

The green eyes widened. "Gorman?!" the Riddler said in disbelief. "Why would he be a target?"

"He was in one of the other suspect areas," Batman said. "Robin saw him pull up to the dock in a motorboat."

Riddler frowned. Gorman was still not one of his favorite people; despite knowing that the businessman had not sabotaged his project, Riddler did not like Gorman because of his generally unfavorable personality. The feeling was likely mutual; Edward had always known that Gorman had not liked him--he had only liked the prospect of the money that could be made from a business deal between them. Any friendliness he had ever exhibited had been fake. And that had been an instant turn-off to a man who rarely showed such feelings at all. The few times Edward Nygma ever displayed a friendly or--Heaven forbid--a kind air, it was because he meant it. He was not the type to apply such a facade in order to manipulate people.

"Well," he said, "I can't say I understand the connection between Gorman and Artie Baldwin--or Gorman and any of the other victims."

"They've both known you," Batman said.

The frown deepened. "Yes, but that doesn't explain most of the others," Riddler said. "Aside from my uncle, they're all strangers to me."

Yin sighed. "There's probably not much more we can do here," she said. "I'm going to go back to the station and see if I can get anywhere in questioning the shooter."

"There isn't any chance that he was the one firing gunshots in the park, is there?" Commissioner Gordon said without hope.

"I doubt it, sir," Yin said. "The car was going around Garcia Heights at the time the murder was probably being committed."

"The police have looked for shell casings, but they haven't found any," Batman said. "They were likely picked up by the shooter so they wouldn't be discovered."

He looked to the Riddler, who was beginning to wander off ahead. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

"I'm just going to take a little look around the park and the surrounding area," the other responded. "You're welcome to join me if you want, Batman." This was said half-sardonically, as he was certain that _someone_ was going to come with him.

"I've already looked over the area," Batman told him. "I didn't find anything."

"It won't hurt for someone else to check as well," Riddler said in a smooth tone.

Batman narrowed his eyes in annoyance. But when the Riddler resumed his journey, the Dark Knight followed.

* * *

Robin, meanwhile, was tired and frustrated as he shadowed Gorman. He had wanted to leave after receiving the communiqué from Batman about the murder, but something had told him that he needed to keep following Gorman a while longer. So far, all the man had done was travel up the docks and to the warehouses nearby. At least he had not realized someone was behind him. Robin had done his best to keep quiet.

Now they were coming to a phone booth. Gorman stopped, looking down at his watch. Seeing that all seemed to be in order, he relaxed.

Robin nearly started out of his boots when the phone actually rang. But Gorman was apparently expecting it. He quickened his pace, stepping over to the booth and lifting the receiver. Robin sneaked closer, hiding behind a large crate that had been left in back of the booth.

"Of course I'm on time," he said impatiently into the telephone. "I see my lawyers did their job."

That was a weird comment. It almost sounded like he meant that he had had his lawyers do something for the person on the phone. But what?

"I'm still not pleased that you let Eddie think I was the one who ruined his life. It's been very costly to me. Do you know how much I had to spend just to get my house back to normal?" A pause. "The only reason I decided to help you was because of what you can do for me. I haven't forgotten your proposal. Get me a prototype of this invention of yours within a week and then we'll talk further. I'll have my driver take you to one of my company-owned laboratories."

Who was he talking to? And what was he talking about? Eddie . . . did he mean the Riddler? But who would have known that Gorman was not responsible for sabotaging the project? Robin's eyes widened.

"Yeah, everything's been fine here. I just ran into some fool kid when I was pulling up on shore. One of Batman's cronies, I think. I must have been crazy to keep my main offices here in Gotham. The place has been crawling with freaks for the last few years!" Another pause. "Domino City? I heard it's even worse as far as freaks go. I'd rather take my chances here."

It took a lot for Robin to keep his mouth shut. No wonder the Riddler loathed this guy. And if only he could hear the other side of the conversation! If it was who he thought it might be, he would recognize the voice.

"Alright. If you've got any more questions, call me at this number." With that he proceeded to recite a telephone number, which Robin proceeded to memorize.

". . . What? No, Eddie won't find out. How can he? He's locked up in Arkham. . . . You heard what?! From who?"

Robin stiffened. Did anyone else know the Riddler had been set free? Since the killer himself knew, there was no telling who else could have learned the truth. Maybe even some of the police had talked too much. A lot of them were not thrilled about the angle of using the Riddler to assist in the case.

"Well, well. I pity the police department. . . . It's hard to say what that nut would do. . . . Yeah, it's possible that he'd attack, if he found out."

Was the Riddler the "nut" Gorman meant? Or could he even mean the killer?

"Then we'll just have to make sure he doesn't find out! I don't need him messing this up. . . . I know how you feel about him. You don't want him around, either. . . . He'll probably be too busy trying to catch that killer to pay any attention to us. . . . Yes. Goodbye."

With that the telephone was placed back in its cradle. Gorman stepped away from the booth, intending to continue his journey. Robin began to raise up, determined to follow. But as luck would have it, his cape caught on a jagged piece of wood hanging loose on another crate. As he tried to straighten up, the wood snapped back.

Both Gorman and Robin froze at the sound, which seemed monstrous in the otherwise still night air. Gorman whirled around, fear manifest on his face. "Who's there?" he demanded. "I . . . I've got a gun." He stuck a hand inside his coat, but Robin had the feeling it was a bluff. Gorman was not the type of businessman who carried a gun--though maybe he needed to be, what with all the trouble he got into.

And now the Boy Wonder had a dilemma. Should he reveal his identity and confront Gorman or not? Even if he came out and said he had heard everything, Gorman was not likely to explain any of the cryptic discussion. Maybe it would even make things worse. Maybe what he needed to do now was to go and tell Batman everything. Batman might want to observe Gorman for a while to see what he was doing.

A smirk crossed Gorman's features when he still received no reply. "Must've been a cat," he muttered. With that he resumed his walk down the wharf. Soon there came the sounds of him getting into a car and driving away.

Slowly Robin rose, watching the automobile until it vanished in the distance. Then he turned his attention to his comlink. "Batman!" he called. "Did you find anything out about the murder?"

"Some," Batman answered. "I was expecting you to be back before now. What happened?"

"A lot," Robin said. "Gorman got a really weird phone call at a booth. I'll tell you all about it when I come. Oh, and it'd probably be better if I talked to you about it alone."

* * *

By that time, Batman and the Riddler had concluded their inspection of the area, which had still proved fruitless. The Riddler had decided to return to the piano store to continue studying the grid and the information about the victims. The police had already been talking to all the family members and friends of the victims that they could, in hopes of finding the connection between them, but to no avail. And without knowing that, there would be even less of a chance of preventing the next murder.

After escorting the Riddler back to the store, Batman had returned to the Batcave to wait for Robin. And once Robin had come, they spent a long while discussing what Gorman could have been up to--and who he could have been talking with.

"Doesn't it seem like the only logical possibility is the Riddler's old girlfriend?" Dick said. By now they were in the den, waiting while Alfred fixed a late dinner. Dick was leaning forward in his chair, seeming excited by his deduction.

"It seems like it," Bruce agreed, frowning at the thought. "So the idea is that Gorman got his lawyers to help her get out of jail because she's helping him with something?"

"It sounded like she was making something for him," Dick said. "He was talking about her getting an invention prototype finished in a week. And he didn't want 'Eddie' to find out. The person he was talking to didn't want that to happen, either."

Bruce gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "He wouldn't like it at all if Gorman and Julie had some kind of a partnership," he said. "But I wonder if there's more to it."

"You mean like them exploiting something else of his?" Dick asked.

"Yes. Riddler only told me about his external hard drive project, but that doesn't mean it was the only idea he came up with at the university," Bruce said. "If there was something else, and he had told Julie about it, she might think it had potential and decide to work on it herself."

"And then maybe Gorman found out and got interested!" Dick said.

"I'll have to ask the Riddler about it and see if he'll tell me anything," Bruce determined.

"Might I suggest, Master Bruce, that it keep until morning?" Alfred said as he came into the room. "Dinner's ready, and if you'll pardon me for saying so, it's nearly midnight. Young Dick is going to have quite a time waking up in the morning for school."

"We could say I'm sick?" Dick said hopefully.

Bruce shook his head as he stood. "No, Alfred's right," he said. "You were out a lot later than you should have been." He sighed. "I'll talk to the Riddler later."

Alfred looked relieved. "Very good, Master Bruce," he said. "I must admit, with all these late meals I'm afraid both of you will get dreadful indigestion."

Bruce smirked. "We'll manage."

"Yeah," Dick said, unable to resist the urge to tease Alfred a bit, "we're used to it."

Alfred gave him a look. "I can't say I'd be surprised," he said.

* * *

A loud _ding_ echoed throughout the room.

The Riddler started awake, nearly flying out of his chair and onto the floor.

Muttering to himself, he began to straighten up, running a hand through his jet-black hair to get it out of his face. At some point during the night, he had fallen asleep slumped over the console. The computer had automatically placed itself on standby after an hour or so, but now it was morning and the programmed alarm had kicked in, reviving the owner and creator of the device.

He looked to the computer screen. The desktop had fully loaded, displaying what he had been working on before the machine had gone on standby. The grid loomed before him, the most recently filled square blinking.

The person killed last night had been a third pawn. Now there was one more pawn, a rook, and the queen and the king. _Four more pieces. . . ._

Was it possible that Gorman really would become a target? That would be so typical of him, to get into that kind of trouble. And though the Riddler despised him, he supposed that he would have to try to prevent that murder from happening, too.

Maybe once again they would fail.

But this could not look good on the police records--twelve dead with four more to follow. There had to be a lot of pressure on Commissioner Gordon and Chief Rojas due to their inability to find this madman. For the Riddler, the stakes were not as serious. His reputation in the real world had long ago been shot. Edward Nygma was guilty of quite a few offenses--though some of them he had already paid for. If he remained on the straight and narrow, he should be allowed to keep his current pardon whether or not the killer was caught. He was doing his best.

What did he have to lose?

Well . . . he hated losing at any kind of game. That was one thing he already knew. He abhorred the way the Chessmaster was mocking him, laughing at his own triumphs and being delighted that not even the Riddler could find him.

But was this just a matter of pride?

There was always the revenge angle, too. He still wanted it, even though his uncle--or a memory of his uncle--had counseled him against it. He could not let go of three years' worth of anger and hatred that fast.

He studied the screen as he continued to think. The square for the last remaining pawn was in the business district. As a matter of fact . . . it looked like it was right where Gorman's company happened to be.

. . . Drat it all.

He leaned back, contemplating this turn. Well, if he showed up in person to tell Gorman he was in danger, the man would never believe it. And for that matter, the Riddler would have a hard time believing that he had actually done it.

His green-eyed gaze turned to the telephone. It was an untraceable number; perhaps he could call Gorman on the phone and disguise his voice by toning down his accent. And having warned the man, maybe he could feel as though he had done his good deed for the day.

Hesitating for another moment, he finally lifted the receiver and tapped out the number. He had memorized Gorman's telephone numbers long ago, during the time when he had still thought the businessman had sabotaged him. After all, he had not known when he might need those numbers to let Gorman know that he was not off the hook.

And now he was calling to warn the man of a possible threat on his life.

Maybe Hell would freeze over this year.

There was a click as the phone was picked up. "Hello?" Gorman sounded extremely rushed. Well, Edward would make this quick.

"Your life is in danger," he said, without returning the greeting.

"What?!" Gorman snapped in disbelief. The sound of his car's engine could be heard in the background.

Edward resisted the urge to make a sarcastic retort. "Don't ask me how I know," he continued, "but you are a probable target of the serial killer roaming the city."

A pause. "Eddie, is this you?" Gorman demanded.

Edward was about to hang up in reply when the explosion ripped through the phone. He jerked it away from his ear, his heart gathering speed. Then there was silence. Slowly he brought the receiver back to him.

"Hello?!" he called, again reverting to his natural voice. But the connection had been broken. Not stopping to think, he tapped out the number again.

A matter-of-fact recording interrupted. "The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service," the annoying woman intoned. He slammed down the receiver, slumping back into the chair as he massaged his forehead.

So now, not only had the Friday Night killer stopped killing on Fridays, but he had stopped killing at night, as well.

He was becoming completely unpredictable.


	6. Twisted Tuesday

**Notes: Many thanks to Kaze for plot help! The idea of Riddler's other invention is hers.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

The last thing Bruce Wayne wanted was to be awakened on Tuesday morning with the news that something had blown up. And what he wanted even less was to be told that it had happened on a viaduct very close to Charles Gorman's company building. But he hurriedly became Batman for the occasion and set out, discovering the police and the Riddler on their way to the scene as well.

The car was a complete mess. Only a smoking skeleton remained when they arrived. Blown-off doors and broken glass littered the road, and more Do Not Cross tape was being set up. Needless to say, the vehicle was totaled.

And Gorman was not happy about it.

He was sitting on a stretcher positioned outside of an ambulance, holding an icepack to the side of his head. His eyes flamed, but whether it was more from anger or from the pain was unclear. He gritted his teeth at the sound of approaching footsteps, and when he turned to look and saw the police, favored by the company of Batman and Edward Nygma, his sour mood only deepened.

"Well," he snapped, "so the freaks have arrived. I wonder if Gotham P.D. can even solve a case on their own anymore."

Batman narrowed his eyes. "The report was that you were killed," he said.

"So I didn't die! I'm the first of the serial killer's victims to actually make it through, and the police didn't have anything to do with that." He thew an accusatory glare at Commissioner Gordon as he said this.

Yin narrowed her eyes. "Now just a minute . . ."

But Commissioner Gordon shook his head. "When you look at our record, Mr. Gorman has a point," he said. "However . . ." And he turned back to the furious businessman. "I'm not so sure this attack was related to the killings."

"Not related?!" Gorman cried, and then winced at the added pain pounding into his brain. "How could it not be related?" he tried again, lowering his voice.

Nygma stepped forward. "The serial killer never kills in the daytime," he said, his voice smooth and his stance composed. "But what's more, out of all of these twelve murders, he has never once used a bomb. He seems to prefer to have the bodies intact, and for the theatrics to not involve explosives."

"So he's getting reckless," Gorman retorted. "You told me my life was in danger."

Nygma looked to him. "And it still is," he said. "I believe what's going on here are two separate and distinct cases concerning you. The serial killer will probably target you, yes--but someone else wanted to as well, and they got to you first."

After he had gotten over the initial shock of hearing the explosion rip through his telephone, he had started to piece together what he was now telling. It made perfect sense to him. The only thing he did not understand was what this second case involved and why Gorman would be targeted by someone else besides the Chessmaster.

"Oh great," Gorman muttered. "This is starting out to be a wonderful day."

"Mr. Gorman, I'm afraid what Mr. Nygma says is likely true," Gordon said. "Will you consider letting us put you under police protection until this is over?"

The disagreeable man stared. "Police protection?!" he said in indignation. "Certainly not! I'm a busy man. I was on my way to the company when all of this nonsense happened. And now I'm late for a meeting with a client from San Francisco!"

"I'm sure he'll understand," Batman said, his tone matter-of-fact.

"Let's be smart about this," Gordon said, looking to Gorman. "You said that the police haven't been able to prevent any of the murders by the Friday Night killer. That's what we're trying to do now, Mr. Gorman, but we need your cooperation."

"Bah!" Gorman threw the icepack onto the stretcher as he began to climb down.

Nygma decided to ignore the outburst. "There is one riddle I would like to know," he commented, twirling his staff behind his back. "How did you get out of the car in time? My ears are still ringing from the blast."

Gorman glowered. "I heard a ticking sound and jumped out the door," he said. "My phone got left in the car. Now it's been blown to bits too." And he fixed the lanky man with a suspicious stare. "What'd you call me for, anyway?" he demanded.

Nygma shrugged. "I'm supposed to help stop the killings, not allow for more," he said, "no matter how much I personally dislike some of the potential victims."

"So it's true, then," Gorman said, looking to the commissioner. "You actually let this guy out to help you with your case. That really gives me a lot of confidence in the police department in this city!" This was said with complete and utter sarcasm.

Batman ignored that as well. "Where did you hear it was true?" he asked.

Gorman stiffened. ". . . Some cop was saying it," he admitted.

"'Some cop' that was talking to you, or to the person you spoke to on the telephone last night?" Batman's tone was flat. Originally he had not wanted to let Gorman know that he knew about the conversation, but this attempted murder changed everything. If they were in the middle of two different mysteries, then he wanted to know. More than that, he _needed_ to know.

For a moment the color drained from Gorman's face. But then his eyes flashed in outrage. "_You_ were the noise I heard last night!" he cried. "What right do you have to eavesdrop on a private conversation?"

Batman decided not to let him know it had been Robin he had heard. "We realized last night that someone might try to kill you," he said. "We were trying to prevent it."

"You did a wonderful job of it, too!" Gorman said.

"And I'm feeling a bit left out." Nygma looked from Gorman to Batman, a frown gracing his features. "What telephone conversation are we discussing?"

"We are _not_ discussing it!" Gorman snapped, going a bit red in the face. Though he did not want anyone to know about it, it was likely that he was reacting with such vehemence at the moment because he especially did not want the Riddler to know. And he shot a look at Batman as a warning to let the matter drop.

"Actually, if it has anything to do with what happened here, it needs to be discussed," Gordon said. "That could be done at the police station, if you'd like that better."

"I don't like it better," Gorman retorted. "This is my private business. But I can tell you right now that it could not have had anything to do with this bombing."

"And why is that?" Yin spoke up, clearly unconvinced.

"Because . . ." Gorman trailed off, his gaze darting back and forth between the others present.

"Because you think the only one who would try to kill you for that reason is the Riddler," Batman deduced.

The green eyes widened in disbelief. "What?!" Immediately he looked back to his old enemy. "What's going on, Gorman? What have you done?"

Gorman fixed both Nygma and Batman with a deathglare. But then his mood completely changed. An arrogant smirk came over his features. The Riddler narrowed his eyes, not liking this one bit.

"Nothing, Eddie," Gorman said smoothly. "I haven't done anything at all."

Before anyone could respond, a dark car drove up the viaduct, stopping near the group. Gorman strolled over to it, grabbing the handle on the back left door. "And," he said, "as much as I would love to continue this gathering, I have to get to the company. Maybe we can do lunch sometime." With that he got inside, slamming the door behind him. The car made a U-turn to head back down, turning to the left once it was off the viaduct.

"That went well," Yin commented, crossing her arms in annoyance.

Gordon looked to Batman. "What is this about a telephone conversation?" he wanted to know.

Batman walked forward, looking to where the bomb squad was examining the wreckage of the car. "I'll tell you about it," he said, "but not here."

Nygma nodded. "Let's go somewhere more . . . private," he said. "I have the feeling I'm going to be very interested."

"You won't like it," Batman told him as he turned back to face the other man.

"I gathered that," Nygma said with a shrug.

* * *

The Riddler definitely did not like it. When they had gathered back at his hideout, and Batman had described what Robin had overheard, the Riddler was furious.

"I should have expected something like this from Gorman," he ranted, slamming a fist down on the console. "And Julie, too! She's doing this just to spite me."

"What exactly is it that you think they're doing?" Batman asked.

The Riddler sighed. "I told Julie about several different project ideas of mine, though the external hard drive was the one we chose to work on together." His eyes narrowed. "I remember writing down all of the others and talking them over with her. She was especially interested in one that would access and search databases all over the world and translate the information back into whichever language the user spoke." A grim smirk crossed his features. "We were going to do that one, but the professor was concerned that it could be too easily misused. So we chose the bio hard drives. Not that they worked out much better."

"And what happened to the plans for this other invention?" Batman gave no indication of what he thought of the project. It was definitely something that could be used for both good and ill, but then again, almost everything could. If the product had hit the market, Batman himself likely would have found it very useful.

"I have them," the Riddler said. "But Julie could have copied them if she had wanted to."

"And Gorman would be interested in a product like that, wouldn't he," Yin mused with a frown.

"Oh yes. He could make a fortune with it." The slender man looked disgusted. "Of course, I wouldn't receive any credit for it. Julie would probably pass it off as her own idea."

Yin's eyes narrowed further. She did not like the Riddler, but it was not fair for him to be treated that way. If Julie and Gorman really were going to try putting that invention on the market, the only right thing to do would be to talk to him about it first and make sure that he got credit for the idea--_if_ he agreed that they could produce it.

"Alright," Batman said. "Is there anyone besides yourself who might want to get back at Gorman for becoming involved in this?"

The Riddler shrugged. "I doubt anyone would go to bat for me, if that's what you mean," he said, the grim smirk returning. "And listen to me, I'm using baseball terminology. I really have sunk low." He did not go on to explain that remark, not that anyone really expected him to. Batman had the feeling that there was more to it than what he already knew of Nygma's dislike of sports.

"What if the bombing really didn't have anything to do with this deal?" Yin said. "Maybe it's connected with some other enemy Gorman's made."

"And he certainly has a lot of them," the Riddler said. "Anything is possible, I suppose."

Batman remained silent. He had the feeling that the bombing was either connected with the serial killer or with this alliance with Julie. Or . . . was it possible that it could be connected to both?

"Gorman indicated that you were the only suspect in his mind, if the car bomb was put there because of the telephone conversation," he spoke. "What if someone else knew that, and they set this up hoping to frame you?"

Green eyes narrowed. "I would have the motive," Nygma said, "but not the opportunity."

"They could argue it was your Riddlemen who planted the bomb," Batman said.

"But whoever did plant it didn't leave behind anything at the site to implicate me," Nygma said. "I'd think they'd be more professional than to just rely on Gorman suspecting me."

"Maybe they didn't think they needed to do anything more," Batman said. "Maybe it's just another curveball to distract us while the killer gets ready for tonight's victim."

"And who is that going to be?" Yin wondered. If the bomb had been intended as a distraction, it had definitely worked. She had not even thought about there being a murder that night since she had received the call about the explosion. At first it had seemed so clear that the killer had struck in the daytime and used a completely different method. Now everything was muddled and murky again.

"I have the feeling it will be Gorman," Commissioner Gordon said. "The killer might have decided that if Gorman survived the bomb, he would still go ahead and use him as the victim tonight. And maybe he would hope that we would think that since Tuesday's attack had 'already happened', we wouldn't need to be ready for a murder after dark."

Batman nodded. "Whether Gorman likes it or not, he should have police protection tonight," he said.

"Meanwhile, I had the chance to go through Arkham's patient records and look for those inmates you mentioned." He glanced at the Riddler.

"Oh? What did you find out?" The other propped a thin arm on the top of the chair as he leaned to the left.

"Barry was released two months ago," Batman said. "Jonas was moved to the penitentiary. I wasn't sure about Hank and Joe, but from the clues you gave, I pinpointed them as two inmates who were let out on probation. They were supposed to stay within the city limits, but Joe's disappeared."

"To resume killing?" the Riddler mused.

"It's possible," Batman agreed.

"What about Hank?" Gordon asked.

"Hank hasn't done anything out of the ordinary," Batman said. "But he's still a suspect."

"Even though he can't play checkers?" Yin remarked dryly.

"In a case like this, the most obvious answer isn't always the right one," Batman replied. "He'll stay a suspect until we can prove he isn't the Friday Night killer."

"I'll send someone to speak to him today," Gordon said.

"What if there's two people?" Yin suggested. "One of them could be the brains behind the whole deal--planning out the chess strategies, the victims, and where the bodies should go. The second might just do the actual killing."

Batman nodded. "I've considered that. I'm not ruling it out yet."

Gordon started to take out his phone. "I'm going to call the bomb squad and see if they found anything unusual," he said. "I also sent teams of officers to Gorman's house and the company. They're supposed to question people and see if anything else is amiss."

"Good," Batman said.

"Gorman will have to be escorted wherever he goes today," Yin said, "and he shouldn't be left without an officer around even in the house. For all we'd know, the killer could have infiltrated as a butler or chauffeur."

"Or a maid," the Riddler mused. "We've been assuming the killer is a man. Maybe he isn't."

"Or maybe there's a man and a woman," Batman said.

"Or even two women," Yin said. "We can't rule out any possibility."

"True," the Riddler said. "Our current suspects are all men, but we're going on shaky evidence for all of them."

He looked to Gordon. "Commissioner, what if someone at the house claims to have seen people lurking about that resemble my Riddlemen?" he said. "Are you going to believe I arranged the planting of the bomb?"

Commissioner Gordon paused. That was a good question. The Riddler might have well been a prime suspect in the past. And he might still be one now--yet for some reason Gordon could not seem to think of him as being guilty of the crime. He had seemed genuinely stunned by what Gorman and Batman had told, so it was unlikely that he had previously known about any deal between Gorman and Julie. But it would infuriate him if Gorman and Julie were exploiting his ideas again, and in a fit of mad rage, it was hard to know what he would do.

"I don't know," Gordon said honestly.

"Well," Riddler smirked, "at least you didn't lie and say No to try to be polite."

Yin gave him a look.

"Also," he continued, ignoring her expression, "we shouldn't just concentrate on Gorman. That could even be what the killer wants, and then he would strike somewhere else."

Gordon nodded. "All the danger zones in the city will be watched again."

"I would hope so," Riddler said.

"And what will you do?" Batman wanted to know, studying the mysterious man.

"Me?" The dark-haired man shrugged. "I will probably not be far away from the police shadowing Gorman."

"So you can try to find out where Julie is?" Batman said, his tone matter-of-fact.

"There's no harm in taking care of two birds with one stone . . . figuratively speaking, of course," the Riddler hastened to add.

"Of course," Yin repeated, the suspicion lingering in her voice and on her face.

If she was planning to say anything about what she was thinking, she never had the chance. The Riddler changed the subject.

"In all the commotion today, I haven't had the opportunity to ask, Yinsey," he said. "What happened with the shooter from last night?"

Yin sighed. "There's been a warrant out for his arrest," she said. "He's a hitman-for-hire wanted in New Jersey for the murder of two people."

"I see," Riddler mused. "And I trust he did not say anything about who hired him this time?"

"Actually, he did admit that he was hired by the Chessmaster," Yin said. "And he said shooting at me was supposed to make me think that I was the intended victim, at least long enough for the actual murder to be committed somewhere else."

"Why would that even be a concern, unless the person was killed nearby?" Batman said. "Your location wasn't close to the park."

Yin nodded. "I stayed up late last night going back to Garcia Heights and trying to find where the murder could've happened," she reported. "I didn't find anything."

"It's something we're continuing to look into," Gordon said. "Everyone in that neighborhood is being questioned."

"Has anyone acted suspicious?" Riddler asked.

"Some of them," Yin said. "We'll be investigating them thoroughly."

"What about the gunshots in the park?" Riddler frowned.

"If they weren't a distraction while someone was being killed, they may have been intended just to get the police officer away long enough to bring the body," Batman said.

"That's what I'm thinking," Gordon said. "According to the autopsy, the body was jostled and moved quite a bit after the man died. The wound indicated that the knife had slipped repeatedly, and that it was probably then removed altogether, only to be impaled into the victim again upon arriving at the bench."

The Riddler nodded, looking back to the computer screen. The empty squares on the grid stared back at him, as if asking him what he was going to do about them. Somehow, they had to stop those squares from being filled. He was determined to not let the Chessmaster continue to assert himself as being the smartest. The Riddler would not be made a fool!

* * *

Since the Riddler insisted on coming along, Yin decided it would be best if he went with her. That way she could keep an eye on him and try to make sure he did not get into trouble. Though in a situation like this trouble always seemed to find them, so she supposed it was too much to hope for that now would be different.

As they sat in the unmarked car, waiting for Gorman to come into the parking garage, she tried to occupy her mind by looking around the area. Was the killer hiding across the street, in or behind a tree, or around the corner of the office buildings? Did he have a car of his own? Maybe he was in an office building. Maybe he was even in Gorman's building. Then it would be up to the police in there to stop the murder, unless they called for backup.

She had tried to visit Hank at his rented apartment earlier, but he had not been home. One of his neighbors said that he was often out, working one of his two jobs. But the person had not been able to tell her what those jobs were, so for the time being she had been forced to give up.

She glanced at the passenger seat. Riddler was quiet, which may or may not be a good thing. What was going through his mind? He seemed to be intent on watching the building too, unless his mind had wandered somewhere far away. She was not in the mood to talk with him, but she needed to make sure he understood what the plan was.

"Once Gorman comes out, we're going to follow him," she said. "If he goes home, there's already police there to take over."

"But if he doesn't go home, then we keep following him," Riddler purred without looking at her.

"That's right," she said. "But you're not to do anything without first running it past me. I don't want you to pull another stunt like the one last night."

"What if there's no time to do anything but act?" he said.

"Then you'll follow my lead," she replied.

He gave a noncommittal shrug. "If I like your plan," he said.

Her eyes narrowed. Was he teasing her again or was he serious?

"If I don't like it, I'll do my own," he continued.

Now her eyes flashed. "I'm in charge here, Riddler, not you," she said. "We set you free, but you're not on the force."

"I wouldn't want to be, either." He leaned back, glancing at her. "You would rather I hadn't been set free, wouldn't you." It was a statement, not a question.

She sighed. "I would have preferred you'd stayed in Arkham." Again she looked toward Gorman's building, her thoughts wandering. The Riddler had provided them with information on how the killer operated, but surely the police could have arrived at the same conclusion (even though so far they had not). Nothing had been prevented now that he was along for the ride. Another murder had been committed last night. And Gorman had said it was a ticking sound in his car that had caused him to get out, not the fact that the Riddler had called to warn him.

. . . But he _had_ helped her catch that hitman last night. Even if she did not like the way he had done it.

And he _had_ called to warn Gorman, instead of deciding to just let things take their course.

"I'm not insane, Yinsey," he said now. "I'm just . . . antisocial."

"So is the Batman, but he doesn't play twisted games," she retorted.

"Do you think I'm a monster?"

The pointed question caught her off guard. She blinked in surprise, turning to look at him. He was looking back, not that it made much difference. Even without the mask, his eyes revealed nothing to her.

She shook her head, suddenly feeling tired. "I don't know what you are." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "Your games aren't like the Chessmaster's," she continued, "but that doesn't make them right, either." It was tempting to go on and comment on the similarities between the two, especially their arrogance and the way they loved to manipulate people, but something held her back.

Was it because that seemed unkind, to compare this man to a mass murderer? Or was it just that it seemed unnecessary? The Riddler had probably already thought of their similarities, and he probably did not like it.

Maybe she did not want it to look like she disliked him even more than she did. She was not immature like that.

"Here he comes."

The change of subject was a relief. Instantly she came to attention, watching as Gorman stepped out the doors of the building and into the parking garage. His footsteps echoed through the wide and hollow space as he crossed to where his car was parked. Remotely unlocking it, he opened the door and climbed inside, setting his briefcase on the passenger seat. As he revved the engine and began to head for the exit, Yin did likewise from her current location.

"Of course, if he realizes he's being followed, he may get spooked," Riddler commented.

"I'm going to try to keep one car between him and us," she said.

"That's fine," Riddler mused, "as long as the one car doesn't belong to the killer."

Yin sighed, though she knew he had a point.

Earlier that evening, Riddler had given her directions to Gorman's house. And judging from the route Gorman was taking, he did not appear to be going there. Instead he was cutting through the heart of the city, heading for the highway that led to the outskirts. Long ago, it had been an alright area, but now it was one of the most seedy parts of Gotham.

"There's mostly factories out this way," Yin said as the lights of downtown began to be left behind. "This isn't an ideal time for an inspection."

"Maybe he's going to a laboratory," Riddler suggested, his voice darkening. "Maybe he's going to meet Julie."

"But the plan was that they'd talk when she finished the prototype," Yin said.

"The incident with the bomb may have changed his mind," Riddler said. "He may want to speak with her in person to decide what to do next."

"I guess that's possible," Yin conceded.

It was not that great a surprise when Gorman stopped in front of a three-story building with a sign marked Gorman Enterprises. Most of the windows were still lit, and as he parked, a red-haired woman on the second floor walked past one of them. At Yin's side, the Riddler stiffened. Yin did not have to ask to know that the redhead was Julie.

And the vague movement in the shadows was enough to let her know that the killer was here, too. Without warning she braked the car, throwing open the door as she ran outside. "Get down!" she yelled at the astonished Gorman, who stood still and stared at her.

She tackled him a split-second later. As he cried out in shock and disbelief, a bullet whistled overhead. Yin drew her gun, whirling back to look. At the edge of the property, a figure was standing next to a tree. She fired back, clipping the bark on the tree as he dodged. He aimed at her as he pulled the trigger of his weapon.

The second bullet was deflected by a Batarang. Yin looked up with a start, just barely catching a glimpse of a black cape on the laboratory's roof. The thrown Batarang continued its path, embedding itself into the shooter's gun. With a curse the man turned and ran. Yin fired again as she got to her feet.

This time the lead hit its mark, burying itself in the figure's arm. He stiffened in pain, but then began to run again, heading for the corner. Batman was pursuing from the rooftops, hoping to get there first. Yin and now the Riddler were giving chase on the ground. But by the time they convened at the corner, the wounded gunman was nowhere in sight.

"He can't have disappeared into thin air," Yin said in frustration, lowering her gun.

Batman jumped down from the nearest roof, landing beside her and the Riddler. "No, he can't," he agreed. "But he's done a good imitation of it."

"So I suppose the next step is to look for a shady doctor who wouldn't report the bullet wound," Riddler said, still staying alert in case the man suddenly sprang out at them again.

Batman nodded. "If the bullet's still stuck in his arm, he's going to need help, whether he likes it or not."

Nearby footsteps caused everyone to stiffen. Yin gripped her gun, while Batman reached for another Batarang. Riddler clutched his staff.

But his eyes widened in astonishment as Julie stepped into the light from a nearby street lamp. She was wearing a white lab coat, her hair pulled into its usual bun. And she seemed just as stunned to see him.

"Edward," she said, taking a step back.

He recovered his poise, studying her with narrowed eyes. "Julie . . . what are you doing here?" he demanded. "Why are you working with Gorman?"

For a moment she looked afraid. But seeing the Batman standing behind him boosted her courage. He would not let Edward do anything to her.

She crossed her arms. "Because Gorman can offer me something that you couldn't," she said. "Success."

Something flashed through his eyes, but then it was gone. "Yes, you and your success," Riddler retorted. "That was your lover. And what is Gorman going to give you success with? Another of my ideas?"

Her eyes narrowed. "It's my idea," she said. "It has nothing to do with you."

"Then why would you care if I knew about it?!" he cried, taking a step forward. Batman tensed, getting ready to restrain him if necessary.

"Because I knew you wouldn't like me working with Gorman," she said.

"Of course I don't like you working with Gorman," he retorted. "He'll exploit you and take most of the profits for himself! Why can't you see that?"

For a moment she was silent. "It's over between us, Edward," she said. "I don't need you to give me advice."

"I certainly don't need to, either," he responded. "I'm not going to stop you from making a deal with Gorman if you want to--as long as you aren't trying to market another of my ideas as your own."

Something akin to guilt flashed through her eyes. But then she turned. "Just go," she said.

He stayed where he was. He did not believe her story about the idea being her own. He would not believe it until he actually saw what she was designing.

And for once, the Batman seemed to agree with him.

"Gorman was nearly killed by a bomb this morning," he said. "Someone may have been trying to get at him because of this deal with you. They could have even been trying to frame Nygma, knowing that he would be angry. What is the invention you're making for him?"

She stiffened, but did not turn around. ". . . It's a highly advanced security system," she said. "He knows someone has been trying to kill him, but he hasn't wanted to go to the police because of the publicity."

"Does he think it's me?" Edward spoke.

"He doesn't know," she said, finally turning back to face him. "And that's the truth. Now . . . will you please go?"

"We're going to talk to Gorman again," Yin finally spoke. "Did he go into the building?" When Julie hesitated, Yin continued, "I'm Detective Ellen Yin, Gotham P.D." She held up her badge.

Julie sighed. ". . . Yes, he did," she said.

Yin walked past her, heading back in that direction. Behind her, she could hear the others following. Hopefully they could just have a calm conversation with Gorman and leave without anything else going wrong.

Though she had to wonder if having a _calm_ conversation with Gorman would ever be possible.


	7. Tuesday into Wednesday

**Notes: The search for shady doctors was inspired by a scene in the **_**Diagnosis Murder**_** book **_**The Waking Nightmare.**_

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Gorman was in the lobby when they reached the building. He did not seem a great deal surprised to see them coming, but he was also not at all pleased.

"You just can't stay away, can you?" he grumped.

"This time you really can't say that the police didn't do anything for you," Nygma replied. "You could be a little more courteous." Not that he expected it would happen; Batman had saved Gorman's life twice and that had not changed his opinion that Batman was just another freak.

Yin stepped forward. "After everything that's happened today, we need to know--did you hire this woman to invent something for you?" She did not mention that Julie had said it was a security system. She still wondered if that was a lie. It did not make sense to her that they would not want the Riddler to know solely because he would not like Julie and Gorman working together.

Gorman glowered. "If it's such a burning question, and answering it will get you out of here that much faster, then yes."

"What was it?" Batman demanded, giving Julie a look when she moved to speak. She frowned, looking to Gorman.

"Just something for me personally," the man said. "Something I need around the house."

Seeing that he was not going to get more specific, Yin decided there was no choice. "She said it's a security system," she said.

Obvious surprise registered on Gorman's face. Though he tried to replace it with a deadpan look, the damage was already done. He had looked as though he had never heard anything about a security system.

"That's right," he said. "It is. Julie came up with the plans herself."

"Can we see them?" Yin asked.

"You don't have a search warrant, do you?" Gorman retorted. "We're under no obligation to show you anything. And showing the plans would defeat the whole purpose. It's supposed to keep people out."

"Or _me_ out?" the Riddler spoke. "Gormey, you should know by now that if I want to get somewhere, I will." He leaned forward on his staff. "I don't trust you or what you're saying. I don't think this is about a security system at all. I still think you're exploiting something else of mine, and I will continue to think so until I have definitive proof that you aren't."

Gorman glowered. "And until your police friends can bring a search warrant, I don't have to show you anything," he said. "You'll just have to take our word for it, whether you like it or not."

Batman narrowed his eyes. Unfortunately, that was true. If Gorman was not going to cooperate, it would just be a waste of time to stay here. There were more productive angles they could follow elsewhere, such as finding the shady doctors in town. If the two mysteries connected, they would find it out at some point.

"Julie also said you know someone is trying to kill you," Yin said, "and that's the reason why you want the security system."

"There's always corporate disputes," Gorman shrugged.

"You think this involves a business rival of yours?" Batman asked.

"Probably," Gorman said.

"You were nearly killed twice today," Yin said. "How can you be so nonchalant about it?"

"It wouldn't do any good to be otherwise, would it?" he responded.

"That's certainly not the attitude you take about the 'freaks' milling around Gotham," Nygma said.

Julie crossed her arms. "Edward, please just go," she said, sounding and looking tired.

Batman was already turning to the door. "There's nothing more we can find out here," he said.

Yin nodded. "Let's go, Riddler," she said.

Riddler remained where he was, glaring at Gorman and Julie. "Very well," he said, "but if I find out you have taken one of my ideas again, I promise you will regret it." With that he turned, following Batman and Yin out the door.

Outside, Yin was feeling frustrated. "Well, we sure haven't gotten much of anywhere tonight," she said. "And I don't really believe Gorman's and Julie's story about the security system myself. It just sounds fishy."

Batman nodded. "But right now, there's nothing we can do," he said. "We have to focus on the bigger picture."

"Clinics are closed by now," the Riddler said. "You won't be able to visit any until morning."

"But we can at least make a list of places to try," Yin said. "Do you know of any doctors that the underworld population likes to visit?"

The Riddler shrugged. "I don't really associate with common criminals," he said, "and in my line of work there aren't that many physical injuries."

"Maybe not to yourself, but what about your lackeys?" Yin said. "You can't tell me they don't get hurt sometimes."

"Well, yes," he admitted. "I don't accompany them to the doctor's office, however. I don't recall there ever being serious or life-threatening injuries."

"Do you at least recall a name?" Batman asked.

The Riddler paused, gazing up thoughtfully at the sky. "Let me see . . . I want to say the doctor's name was Ebsen," he said.

"Fine. I'll look for him and see if there's any others on record," Yin said. She looked to the Batman. "What are you going to do?"

"Patrol the city to make sure no one else is in danger," Batman said. "We're still just assuming Gorman is the serial killer's target."

"I don't think we need to assume any longer." The Riddler pointed to a nearby tree. A Batarang--probably the one that had been stuck in the shooter's gun--was now embedded in the bark. A piece of Friday's newspaper was trapped between it and the weapon.

* * *

The rest of the night was spent in the pursuit of information on shady doctors. Once the clinics were open the next morning, Yin and other police began to make the rounds, questioning the physicians and not being able to learn a great deal. Batman, wondering if the gunman would have expected this move, was looking in a couple of nearby towns instead. If there was more than one person involved, someone could have driven the wounded man to a doctor's office.

The place he was checking now was in a brick home that had been converted into a clinic. From the outside it looked nice enough, at least, and not completely rotting away. As he approached the porch, a wooden sign suspended from the overhanging roof blew back and forth in the breeze. _Jack Buckman, M.D. _had been engraved into the wood. Batman ignored the sign, after having paused a moment to read the name. Trying the doorknob proved that it was unlocked, and he stepped inside.

A blasé receptionist was seated at a desk in what had been the living room. "If you're here as a walk-in, you'll need to take a seat," she said without looking up. "If you've got an appointment, the doctor will be with you shortly."

"I don't have an appointment." Batman's voice was stern and serious. "Is the doctor with a patient right now?"

"No, but he's . . ." The receptionist finally looked up as Batman proceeded past her into the corridor. "Hey!" she exclaimed, less shocked by his appearance than she was his actions. "You can't go back there!"

But Batman ignored her. Instead he peered into each examination room, finding them all empty. As he arrived at the final stretch, a short, plump man emerged from an office at the end. His white coat was spotted with blood, his stethoscope hanging awry around his neck. He stared at Batman, his mouth dropping open in shock.

"Hey," he started to say, "what's . . ."

But Batman interrupted. "Did you treat a man with a bullet in his arm?" he demanded.

The doctor swallowed hard. "I don't have to tell you anything!" he protested. "Doctor-patient privacy and all that!"

Batman grabbed the man, shoving him against the wall and raising him a bit into the air. "This man tried to kill someone last night," he said. "He could be the serial killer or someone working for him. Do you want to go to prison as an accessory to these crimes?"

"N-no!" the man gasped. He reached up with shaking hands, struggling to pry himself away from the Batman. "But I . . ."

"If you don't tell me, you'll be telling the police," Batman said. "What's it going to be?"

Beads of perspiration were beginning to appear on the doctor's face. "I . . ." He glanced down at his blood-stained coat.

Batman glanced at it too. "Is that his blood?" he wanted to know.

"I didn't treat any _man_," the doctor replied obnoxiously.

Batman's eyes narrowed. "Then it was a woman," he deduced.

At last the physician looked defeated. "She went out the back way," he said, "about thirty minutes ago."

"And you didn't change your coat?" Batman retorted.

". . . Okay, five, ten minutes ago," the man said.

"Did she come with anyone?" Batman asked.

"If she did, only she came in," the doctor said. "Now will you please just put me down?"

"One more question. What did she look like?"

The physician swallowed, his heart still hammering in his ears from the experience of being cornered by a giant bat. "Long red hair," he said. "She was maybe about five feet. She was wearing a blue shirt and jeans."

"Did she give you a name?"

"Hey, you just said one more question," the doctor whined. But Batman's cold look prompted him to cooperate. "No, she didn't," he said. "Most of 'em don't, and I don't ask. Patient's privacy, you know."

Batman released him, letting him fall to his knees in a sorry heap. Then he brushed past to the back door, which he could see through the open door of the room just ahead of him. Throwing it open, he stepped out onto a rickety wooden stair. Apparently they did not take as great an interest in making the rear of the building presentable as they did the front.

He was looking out at an empty backyard that mostly consisted of gravel. As he stepped down and moved forward, he discovered a small piece of blue cloth caught between two pebbles. He reached down, picking it up in a gloved hand. It was a light color, more of a blue mixed with lavender than outright blue. Had it been torn from the woman's shirt? He slipped it into a small, clear bag. He would go back inside and show it to the doctor, after he finished inspecting the area.

It was clear that the shooter had come in a car; tire tracks were clearly visible amid the gravel. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about the grooves, so they would not be a good clue. He walked on, examining every inch of the desolate area. There was nothing else out of place, so he turned and went back up the steps.

The doctor was coming out of his office with a fresh coat when Batman walked inside again. His eyes widened in horrified alarm. "I don't know anything else!" he cried.

Ignoring the outburst, Batman held up the bag with the piece of cloth. "Is this from the shirt the woman was wearing?" he asked.

The man leaned forward for a better look. "Yeah, I think so," he said.

Batman gave a curt nod. "What examination room was she in?"

"You're not done yet?" the physician moaned.

Batman looked at him in stony silence.

"Number three," the doctor groaned in resignation.

With that Batman turned to the left, entering the room in question. But there was nothing to be found. After a thorough inspection of the room, he departed. He would examine the scrap of cloth back at the Batcave and then tell the commissioner of his findings.

* * *

The person Yin had spoken to the previous day had told her that when Hank was home, it was usually in the early evening. So around five, she left to return to his apartment--with the Riddler in tow. He had wanted to come along, and she had decided maybe it would be a good idea. Just in case Hank did not want to speak to the police and decided to have someone else pose as him, the Riddler would hopefully be able to identify the hoax.

"Hopefully?" she frowned, glancing at him as she drove them to the bad part of town.

He shrugged. "Supposing the man is a good actor and make-up artist, I might not see through it," he said. "I never knew Hank very well."

"Shouldn't you be able to figure it out with your 'brilliant mind'?" she answered, half-sarcastically.

"Oh, I'm sure I can," he smirked. "I'm just warning you in case."

"Or maybe you're just wanting to let me know how unimportant the other inmates are to you," she said. "I know--you didn't like associating with the other criminals. Or anyone else, either. Have you been antisocial because you don't think anyone can match up to your intellectual skills?"

"It's just not much fun to talk to people if they don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about," he said. "Surely you can understand that, Detective."

"I guess." She turned to the right. The buildings were getting more dilapidated now. One was completely destroyed, the result of a fire. The roof had caved in; the windows had been shattered and the door was standing open.

"I hope this wasn't Hank's building," the Riddler commented.

Yin frowned at it. "No, it isn't," she said. "It's further along."

"Hopefully this one was an accident," Riddler said.

"When you say it like that, I have a hard time believing you care at all," Yin said, slowing down to allow a group of children to hurry across the street after a ball.

The Riddler was silent for a moment. "Even if I cared, Yinsey, how would it help anything to show it?" he said.

"It might make people think more highly of you," Yin said.

"If they like me, they do, and if they don't, they don't," Riddler answered.

Yin sighed. Trying to talk to him was getting them nowhere.

The rest of the ride was silent. When Yin finally pulled up in front of the correct apartment building, it was almost dark. The street lamps were coming on, as well as the light in the lobby of the building. Opening the door, Yin eased herself out, looking around to make sure no one was lurking in the shadows. The Riddler followed, taking up his staff from the backseat on the way.

The hallways were vacant as they went inside. The lighting was dim, and loud music could be heard from one of the rooms on the ground floor. Yin ignored it, climbing the metal stairs to the second floor and then the third. When she reached Hank's door, she stopped and gave a sharp knock.

"The doorbell's out of order," she told the Riddler.

"I'm surprised everything isn't out of order in a place like this," he replied.

After a moment the sound of footsteps came from inside. A chain was removed from the door as it cracked open an inch. A pock-marked face peered out at the odd twosome standing in the hall. A pretty lady holding up a badge, and a guy in dark green pants with a matching sleeveless shirt and a brass staff . . . yeah, not something you saw every day.

"Are you Hank?" the woman asked.

He nodded, still staring at them both in suspicion.

"I'm Detective Ellen Yin, Gotham P.D. I just need to ask you a few questions. Is it alright if we come in?"

He nodded again, holding the door open further and stepping aside to allow them entry.

"That thing isn't gonna go off, is it?" he asked, looking to the sharp cane.

"Not unless it should," the odd guy answered as he walked past.

Once they were both inside, Hank shut the door. They were standing in a small living room that was not much brighter than the hallway. A stained and threadbare brown carpet graced the floor, along with a television set that had probably been around since the invention of TV. A rickety wooden coffee table stood in between it and a sofa with stuffing emerging from every conceivable opening (and some not so conceivable).

"You can sit down if you want," Hank said, gesturing to the latter.

"Thanks. I think we'll stand," Yin said. The Riddler nodded his agreement.

Hank shrugged. "Well . . . what can I help you with?" he asked. "I can't stay long; I've got to get to my second job. I'm a janitor." And he looked like he would feel perfectly at home in a pair of coveralls, with a fancy broom at his side. He did not look imposing in the least.

Yin nodded. "We won't keep you," she said, her mind working to come up with a good cover story for their arrival. "The police are still trying to find what happened to your friend Joseph Bentley. I was hoping he might have contacted you."

The homely man blinked. "No, I haven't heard from Joe at all," he said. He glanced back to the Riddler, looking him up and down in confusion.

"Oh, you don't remember me?" the dark-haired man purred. "Maybe if I had my mask it would help. And that jumpsuit." He had not been wearing the traditional clothing of his criminal alter-ego, mostly as a way of trying to show the police that he was cooperating with them. But he still insisted on wearing green, and Commissioner Gordon had wearily allowed him to keep his cane after the display of the security codes within it.

Hank shifted. ". . . Eddie?" he said at last.

"That's right--Eddie, the frequent target of your disgust at Arkham--or was it jealousy?" The Riddler smirked, leaning on his staff.

Hank glowered, for the first time not just looking like a mild-mannered janitor with wild sandy hair.

"Now," the Riddler continued, "I don't imagine Joe could have contacted you at all, since you _are_ Joe."

Hank's mouth dropped open. Yin turned to stare, her expression demanding an explanation.

"Didn't you think I'd notice?" Nygma smiled. "Of course you fixed yourself up to look like Hank, but you just don't make the cut. Hank is taller than you, and his hair doesn't get darker at the roots. It's a bad dye-job."

Yin frowned, looking back to "Hank." "What do you have to say to that?" she asked.

The man was glaring again. "Okay, so I'm not Hank," he admitted. "Hank's the one who disappeared, and I didn't want him to get into trouble. So I made it look like I'd vamoosed and figured I'd just masquerade as him for a while. I thought I'd find him sooner or later, or else he'd come out of hiding."

"That's very interesting," Nygma mused, "only I remember that you and Hank hated each other almost as much as you both hated me. You wouldn't do him any favors. Not unless he'd talked to you about it first and was going to pay you for it."

"Or unless someone else was going to pay you?" Yin suggested.

"Who else would pay me?" Joe said defensively.

"That's what I'd like to know," Yin said. "I'm going to need you to come to the station for questioning."

Joe's face twisted in anger. Without warning he shoved Yin to the side as he ran for the door. The Riddler swung his staff at the fugitive, but only managed to take out a chunk of the thin door as the sharp crook scraped across it. Splinters of wood flew in every direction, distracting Yin and the Riddler as Joe fled down the stairs. They dodged the fragments, giving chase as the metal stairs rang with their footsteps.

"Stop!" Yin called when the man was in sight again. Joe only ran faster, landing on the ground floor and turning to run towards the back exit. As Yin and the Riddler continued their pursuit, startled residents peered out through their doors and peepholes.

"Whatever is all the commotion?" an elderly woman exclaimed in alarm.

"Police business," Yin managed to call over her shoulder. "Stay inside your apartments!" There was no telling whether Joe would open fire or not. It would be foolish to take chances.

Joe burst outside moments later into a darkened alley, the Riddler right on his heels. As Yin followed, their footsteps were fading away towards the left. She moved to continue the chase.

And a figure clad in a black catsuit leaped at her out of the night, a knife clutched in a gloved hand.

Brown eyes widened in surprise. Yin dodged to the side as the person lunged. The blade sliced the air before the attacker recovered and came at Yin again. She grabbed the wrist, struggling to twist it away from her. The malicious figure lashed out, kicking her legs out from under her. With a cry she fell backwards, hitting the rough ground.

The person came at her again, the knife poised to stab into her chest. She kicked up, hitting the stranger squarely in the mid-section. The person fell back with a distinctly masculine grunt, momentarily dazed.

Yin took the opportunity to leap to her feet, moving forward with her gun in her hands. In response the man threw the knife at her and turned to flee, melting into the shadows. As she leaped out of the way, her shirt sleeve ripped, the blade cutting into her arm before embedding itself into the wall behind her. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain as she righted herself and ran in the direction her attacker had taken. But it was no use--the man had vanished.

An exasperated sigh left her lips as she stood under a street lamp just to the side of the apartment complex. Now there was nothing left to do except to see if she could find where the Riddler and Joe had gone. Maybe she should go and get the car first.

Shock flashed through her eyes as she hurried to the front of the building. The car was open, and the black-suited figure was leaning inside. Was he doing something to damage the steering wheel?

"Hey!" Yin called, her voice sharp.

The man started, hurriedly pulling himself out of the car. As he turned to flee, he was met by the swing of a brass staff. It connected with his forehead and he went down, hitting the pavement on his back.

The Riddler smirked. "That should make him think twice about breaking into a police car," he said.

Yin walked over to him. "That man tried to knife me," she said. "Why did he come back here? And how did _you_ get back here? Where's Joe?"

"I lost him, unfortunately," the Riddler said in annoyance. "As I was coming back this way, I saw our friend here opening your door and leaning inside. So I made my way over to see what he was up to. . . . Hello, what's this?" He frowned, staring at an emblem sewn onto the front of the black catsuit.

Yin stared too. "A black horse's head," she said.

"More than that--it's the symbol of a knight in chess," Riddler said. "This man works for the Chessmaster. But he's not merely a hired hitman--he's among the elite."

Yin was half-listening. As she turned to look inside the car, a gasp left her lips. Riddler narrowed his eyes, looking over at her.

"What is it?" he asked.

She pointed at a knife that had been plunged into the back of the driver's seat. Hanging from it was a piece of last Friday's newspaper.

"I thought he was just trying to stop me from catching Joe," she breathed. "But there was a lot more to it than that.

"Riddler, _I_ was tonight's target!"


	8. Check

**Chapter Eight**

The Riddler was stunned by Yin's declaration. But indeed, it appeared to be true; the piece of the newspaper was the final indication of it. And when he stopped to think about their current location, they were likely right in the square belonging to the other rook--or in a square that would correspond to how the rook could move.

"You're bleeding," he noted.

Yin stiffened, looking down at the crimson trickling from her arm. "It's just a scratch," she said.

"Even a scratch can get infected," he returned.

She sighed. "I'll take care of it later. We need to get this guy to police headquarters." She bent down by the still-senseless assassin, snapping on the handcuffs.

The Riddler stared off at the apartment complex, trying to make sense of what was going on. "First my uncle, then Artie, Gorman, and now you--all people that I know," he said. "But is it a coincidence or not? Batman already brought up the idea and I rejected it. How does it possibly fit when I don't know any of the others?!"

Yin began to haul up the limp form. "I don't know," she said, also feeling frustrated. "Get the back door for me."

Riddler opened the left-side back door, then placed his staff in the car and came to assist Yin with getting the newly-arrested criminal onto the back seat.

"Riddles are supposed to be your specialty," Yin told him as they eased the guy into the car. He gave a weak moan, stirring in their grasp, but did not awaken. She sighed, snapping the seatbelt around him. Then she straightened up and shut the door, moving to the front. A dark frown graced her features as she looked at the knife and paper still stuck in the driver's seat. It was eerie to think of driving while leaning her back against where that weapon had been. But she was not so squeamish that she could not handle it.

Just in case there were any fingerprints, she had to handle the weapon without letting her own prints mar it. Quickly she pulled on a pair of gloves, producing two plastic bags as well before going to work. She wrenched the weapon out of the stuffing, sealing it in one of the bags. The clipping she placed in the other. Then she set them both in a metal box for evidence and shut the lid. With a sigh, she pulled off the gloves and slumped into the seat, her legs still hanging out of the car and onto the ground. Behind her, she could hear the Riddler getting into the passenger seat.

This week had been one of the most exhausting she had spent. And it was not over yet. If there were not going to be any other attacks tonight, then what remained was Thursday's and Friday's--the queen and the king. And who were they?

Her eyes widened. "Riddler, let's just say that for this last week of murders, the Chessmaster wanted to 'up the ante' by killing people you know," she said, swinging her legs into the car as she turned to face him. "What if he'll continue with that on Thursday and Friday? Julie could be his target for queen."

Riddler stiffened, then looked away. "Even if that's true, should it mean anything to me?" he said, pulling the door shut on his side. "Julie has made it quite clear that she doesn't want me in her life. And I don't particularly want to be. Not anymore."

She frowned. "You don't mean that you wouldn't try to stop the killer from using her?" she said.

He shrugged, staring out the window. "I was ready to kill her myself when I found out the truth."

Yin looked down. That was true, and yet . . .

Why on Earth was she trying to pick apart the Riddler's mind? And especially now?

". . . I saw the way you looked when you saw her last night," she spoke at last. "You still love her."

"You would know?" the Riddler asked with a dry laugh.

"I recognize the look of someone who realizes their love is hopeless," she said, her voice growing quieter. That was something she had never told to anyone before, as it also revealed something deep about her own past--or someone she knew; she would not say which. But in any case, now she was saying this to, of all people, an arrogant, antisocial criminal. Well, former criminal, if he could keep it up.

He finally turned to look at her. "If it's a hopeless love, then it's pointless as well," he said, with the look of someone embittered.

"Maybe. But I don't believe you would let her die," she answered.

He crossed his arms, looking up at the ceiling of the car. ". . . Supposing you're right and she is Thursday's target, who is Friday's?" he mused. "Batman?"

She sighed. "It's possible," she said. "But the Chessmaster will get a nasty surprise if he thinks he can take down the Bat."

A smirk crossed the Riddler's features. "He would, wouldn't he." He reached up, pulling down the seatbelt. "Let's get this man to the station. Not that he'll be willing to talk when he wakes up."

"If that even happens tonight," she responded, only half-sarcastic. "Your staff is brutal." Slamming her own door, she leaned forward to examine the steering wheel. It did not appear to have been tampered with. Hopefully the man in the back seat had only had time to stick the knife and paper on the seat before he had been caught. She strapped on her safety belt, turning the key in the ignition.

"I haven't put another round of sleeping gas in it yet," he said, "so I have to improvise."

"Don't feel like you have to be in a hurry," she said dryly as she pulled away from the curb.

* * *

Batman was not pleased to hear about the evening's events. And he was also not pleased about the slim lack of evidence from the piece of cloth he had taken. In the end, he had decided to take the doctor's coat as well, to check it for blood samples--but all he had learned was that the hitwoman had very normal, very healthy type A blood.

He was very intrigued by the news that Yin had arrested a member of the Chessmaster's elite forces, albeit not surprised by the symbol on the man's chest. It made perfect sense for the Chessmaster to have his favored henchmen play the roles of chess pieces. Did it mean that the girl could be among them too? Of course she was not likely to show up at the doctor's office wearing such an outfit, so the fact that she had been wearing blue was inconclusive as far as whether she was also among Chessmaster's "elite."

The way the doctor had described her was sticking out in his mind as well. It had almost sounded like Julie. But it could not be her, if only because she had appeared shortly after the female shooter had disappeared and she had used both of her arms just fine. And as much as Batman had a general lack of respect for her, he had to admit that becoming a mass murderer was not her style. She was too scientific and too interested in success. She had proved that she was not above ruining the lives of anyone she felt was in her way, but she probably felt that was good enough.

Yet the nagging thought was still in his mind--what did Gorman's and Julie's partnership have to do with what was happening here? It connected in some way, and he was not sure that framing Nygma was the only reason.

And so for the next hour, he conducted research on the man, reading every article he could find that told what Gorman was marketing. He looked for articles on Julie, too. After the fiasco that she had secretly caused to remove Nygma from the university, she had become quite noticed for her scientific achievements--just as she had wanted. But the articles he was finding were not telling him anything he wanted to know. They were not even giving any hints.

"What's going on?"

He only barely glanced up as Robin came into the Batcave. "Not much," he said. "I need to figure out what Gorman and Julie are up to. Somehow it fits in. I just have to prove how and why."

"Well, no biggie there," Robin said in sarcasm, looking over the article on the screen that mentioned Gorman had bought the old Gotham power plant. He was planning to refurbish it and use it to privately power some of his own subsidiaries and factories.

Batman was still staring at it as well. It was a recent article, published a week or so ago. But other than that, it did not seem significant. Not unless . . .

He straightened up in the chair. "Maybe Julie is going to help with the refurbishing," he thought aloud. "She might have an invention that would make it easier."

"But what does it have to do with the killer's plan?" Robin exclaimed.

"I'm going to check something," Batman replied. Typing commands into the computer, he brought up his own copy of Riddler's Gotham grid. His eyes narrowed at the sight.

"This is interesting," he said. "The square for the king is the location of the old Gotham Power and Light building that Gorman bought."

Robin's mouth dropped open. "No way!" he cried. But then he slumped back into the chair again. "I still don't get how it all ties in," he said in frustration. "I mean, you don't think Gorman and Julie are mixed up in this, do you?"

Batman shook his head. "Not knowingly," he said. "They're not serial killers, nor would they want to work with one. But maybe the Chessmaster wants something of theirs."

"Like Julie's invention!" Robin proclaimed.

"Yes." Batman studied the screen in frustration. "If we just knew what it was."

"The police can't get a search warrant, can they?" Robin said.

"Not unless something drastic happens," Batman said, "something that will make them feel that it's vital to know what the invention is."

"But what if the something drastic happening is the thing being stolen?" Robin said.

Batman leaned back, crossing his arms. "The Batwave will let us know if a crime is being committed there," he said. "If that happens, we'll just have to prevent the theft."

"And until then, there's nothing we can do?" Robin said in disbelief.

"We could try to question the Chessmaster's knight that Detective Yin arrested," Batman said. "Not that he'll talk. He hasn't so far."

"I'm up for it!" Robin declared, leaping out of his chair. "Let's go!"

After putting the computer on standby, with the order for it to awaken if something was amiss in the city, Batman followed.

He had not yet told Robin about the theory Yin and the Riddler had posed--that Julie would be the next victim and Batman himself might be the last one. The first part made sense to him, with the way things had been going. He was already planning to keep close watch on Julie tomorrow.

But for some reason, the idea that he was also a target did not feel right. It made sense too, really; he was certainly someone the Riddler knew, who had been highly involved in stopping the man's schemes. And he was even someone whom the Riddler might not want to see die--if only because that would deprive him of someone to match wits with.

So why was it that he could not agree with the idea?

* * *

The Riddler was still awake hours after returning to the piano store and barricading himself in his secret room. He had long ago begun to prefer the company of computers to people--after all, computers were obedient, did not talk back, and did not betray him, provided they were operating correctly. Coming back to the soft hum of the machine usually relaxed him, but tonight he could not calm his edgy feelings.

How could the victims all be random? Every person this week had been someone he had known. Of course, maybe it was like Yin had said and it was just something the killer was doing for the final week. But then again, there was his uncle. Had that been an unlucky and tragic coincidence? Or had the killer meant all along to include Roger Nygma among the body count?

But then there were all these others, the complete unknowns--the drug addicts, the young unmarried women and men, the married women and men, the elderly--people he had never met. What was the connection? Why couldn't he find it? Why had he never been able to find it? When the killer had struck three years ago, there had been a new victim every Friday for eight weeks. No one had been able to catch him. People had been _dying_ and nothing had been able to be done to stop it from happening!

He slammed a fist on the edge of the console in frustration. The Chessmaster had been making fools out of all of them--the police, Batman, and him. But if he despised the Riddler so much, had he even really cared what the police and Batman did? What if this entire killing spree had been to get back at the Riddler for something? Did the Chessmaster consider it their own personal match of wits? Riddler had known that had been the madman's goal for this past week, and in the past that deathtrap had been set specifically for him. Yet he had always believed that he had been someone who had caught the Chessmaster's attention, not someone whom the Chessmaster had wanted to challenge from the beginning.

He slumped back into the chair, massaging his bloodshot eyes. If he stared at the pictures of the victims for too long, he started imagining that he did know them--that they had lived on his old street, that they had said Hello to him every day, that he could have even gone to school with them--and that he had forgotten all of them completely because they had been nothing to him. Of course it was nonsense. But sometimes it was as if all of the eyes in the pictures were staring at him, accusing him, blaming him for their deaths and for forgetting them.

It was not true! It was not . . .

He frowned. What if, however, he was thinking too big? This was a wild idea, but what if they were people he had passed on the street once or twice--a woman who had once asked him for spare change, a man who had been ahead of him in line at the grocery store and had made some off-hand comment?

That was ridiculous, too. Why on Earth would the killer get rid of people who had played such a minuscule role in his life? How would the killer even _know_ about such people or who they were? The only way that could possibly work would be if the Chessmaster had been stalking him, taking pictures, making notes of everyone he saw. . . .

"With a riddle, the most obvious answer is rarely the right one," he breathed. The rule applied to chess, too. What could have been less of a consideration than this? _He_ had been the target all along. These people had been killed to get his attention and his alone, whether or not he had ever met them. But he was beginning to feel more strongly that at some point, he had encountered every one of them. That was part of the message to him, as well as this hatred against Friday nights. It was something he was supposed to understand.

In some way, he suddenly felt personally responsible for each and every one of the victims. The bile rose in his throat.

"Dear God. . . ."

"Riddler! What's wrong?"

He started, looking over to Yin and the Batman standing in the doorway of the room. Yin stared at him. His already-pale skin was now chalk white. His green eyes were haunted and sickened. He looked downright ill.

He averted his gaze, looking back to the computer. "I can't say for certain what the connection is between the victims," he said, "but I know the killer's motivation. And I may know who it is."

* * *

What Yin and the Batman had come to tell him was how the questioning of Chessmaster's knight had proceeded after Batman had arrived. After a lengthy interrogation session, the man had finally revealed a few facts. He did not know the Chessmaster's identity, nor what the madman wanted, but he and others had worked for him because the pay was good. The female shooter was indeed among the elite--she was the second--the "king's"--bishop. But one thing that seemed very odd was that the killer did not have a queen. He would never explain why, either--only that the queen had already been captured.

The knight had also revealed that Batman's suspicions were correct--the Chessmaster wanted something that Gorman and Julie were working on. There was a robbery planned for Thursday night. He did not know whether the Chessmaster himself was planning to take part in it or if he would stay hidden on "his" side of the board. But the knight had refused to say any more, including where the hideout was--much to everyone's frustration. Still, they were grateful for what they had learned, and the commissioner was trying to get in touch with Gorman and Julie to warn them of the impending attack.

They then listened as the Riddler told them of his own suspicions. It was sickening, but Batman was not surprised. The Riddler's theories about the killer's identity seemed plausible as well, but there were still pieces missing. If the Riddler had known every victim, then it was all the more logical that Batman was the final target. Yet the idea still did not feel right. And the hatred of Fridays was something that the Riddler could not place.

They were left to hope that the entire mystery could be brought to a close on Thursday night--without any more lives being lost.

* * *

Everyone was tense at the Gorman Enterprises laboratory the next evening--employees, police, and the Bat team and Riddler alike. Gorman was pacing the floor, his hands behind his back. Julie frowned as she watched him from where she was leaning against a table, her arms crossed.

"You're making me nervous," she said.

He looked over at her. "That killer is going to come here," he said, "he and his twisted little army! And all we've got as a defense are some police officers who still can't catch the guy and a bunch of Gotham's freaks!"

She sighed. "And your security guards," she said.

"Who've never dealt with something like this," he growled. "Serial Killers 101 is not a course included in their basic training!"

She looked away, staring towards the nearest window. "Well, maybe you'd better fix that," she said.

He stopped, watching her. "What're you thinking about now?" he frowned in annoyance. "Eddie?"

She hesitated. Yes, she was, actually--mainly thinking about how she could never seem to get him out of her life. Right now he claimed he did not even want to be there, and yet he was anyway. Maybe she should have moved away from Gotham. Maybe she still would, when all of this was over and her business with Gorman was done. She wanted to try her luck somewhere else, far away from Gotham and Edward and all memories of her past life.

She had told herself that she was not ashamed for what she had done at the university. She had needed to get rid of Edward. He had been impeding her chances of success. Yet even when the device had malfunctioned and she and Gorman had glared accusingly at Edward, she had felt a twinge of guilt. He had looked so stunned and horrified as he had stared at the man who had been injured by his invention. That had not been supposed to happen. It had been his idea; he should have been with her to enjoy in its success.

That was what whatever was left of her conscience told her, anyway. She tried to never listen to it for very long.

She looked back to Gorman, remembering his question. "I was thinking that it should be about time for this Chessmaster to get here," she said.

"Why do you want to speed it up?" Gorman grumped.

At that moment the alarm system went off. Sirens shrilled as red lights flashed on and off overhead. People began to panic, scurrying in every direction. The security guards came to attention, dividing into each sector to look for the source of the break-in.

Behind Julie, the window suddenly shattered. She whirled in shock, stunned as four people in black catsuits leaped into the room. Each bore the insignia of a chess pawn on their uniform. Without warning they lunged, flinging ninja stars near her and Gorman.

"Oh great!" he cried as he dodged one of the sharp weapons. "The whole lot of them are freaks. Do they think this is one big chess game?!" He pulled open a desk drawer with such force that several objects went flying. He grabbed up a revolver that was still intact, shakily holding it up as he removed the safety and squeezed the trigger. A bullet flew past the pawns, embedding itself harmlessly in the wall.

Batman suddenly appeared in the room, sending a Batarang to counteract the pawns' ninja stars. The weapons collided, falling to the floor in a twisted heap.

"Both of you should get out of here," Batman said to Gorman and Julie as he stood between them and the advancing pawns. He kicked out at one, knocking the attacker off-balance. A second leaped into the air.

Gorman hurried for the door, Julie following him. Batman could distract them while he went to check on Julie's invention. They had been warned that they should not be around, but Gorman had not wanted to abandon his laboratory and Julie had not wanted to abandon her invention. Neither of them even saw how it would be possible for the device to be stolen; it was far too large to be moved.

The entire building was swarming with Chessmaster's elite. It was not long before another obstacle blocked Gorman's path--the second knight. Julie frowned, leaving him to deal with that as she ran down another hall. The invention she was creating had originally been for Gorman, but she could get a lot of other uses out of it. Checking on it now was the most important thing.

Somehow she was able to make it to the room without incident. The ninjas, or whatever they were, had not gotten this far yet. Quickly she typed in the security code and slipped into the room, shutting the door behind her. The lights came on automatically, revealing the supercomputer that lined all the walls. In the center was a high stand with a chair, which connected the user to all the knowledge this database could gather.

It _was_ Edward's project; Julie had lied. But this version was something Gorman had had his scientists create. What she was in the process of designing was a miniaturized version, a tiny handheld device that could encompass all of the same amount of information from databases all over the world. She and Edward might have designed it together, if they had continued to work as partners.

"So, I was right all along, wasn't I, Julie?"

She froze. Edward had already cracked the code and gotten inside. He was at the other side of the room, stepping into the lights at the center. This was too much like deja vu--the two of them alone, with Edward advancing threateningly. . . .

She crossed her arms. "Yes, you were," she said, holding back her fears. "But this_ is _a security system for Gorman. It will make him rich."

"And it will give you success. You'll be world-renowned for inventing such a magnificent device," Edward said as he came to stand in front of her. He was dressed as the Riddler once again, right down to the mask. She could not see his eyes at all. Did this mean he was abandoning his quest to help the police? Was he going to return to a life of crime?

"Only it isn't yours at all," he said, leaning in closer. "It's mine."

Fear surged through her veins. "Edward, don't do this!" she pleaded.

"I should," he retorted, clutching the staff as he pointed it at her. But then he grabbed her wrist. "Instead, I'm going to get you out of here," he said.

She had been steeling herself to fight him off. Now she stiffened. "What?" she said in disbelief.

He turned away, clutching at her wrist to pull her with him as he moved towards the door. "This proves I'm a complete fool," he said, "but I'm not hopeless. I know it's over between us. It's been over for a long time, if it ever even existed to begin with."

She looked back at the room they were fleeing. ". . . What about the information database?" she exclaimed.

"I don't care!" he retorted. "The others will have to protect it until you're away from here. Only then will I come back."

But the door slid open before he could reach it. Half a dozen of Chessmaster's men stood in the doorway. The Riddler was forced to back up as they entered, gripping his staff in one hand while keeping Julie behind him with the other.

"There's no way you can take my invention," he said to them. "You'd have to find a way to remove the entire room!"

The one in the lead threw a ninja star, which he caught and deflected with his cane. The other chess pieces spread out, suddenly lunging at him and Julie all at once. He was forced to let go of her in order to fight.

"I'll hold them off," he told her. "Find the nearest exit and get out, then call for help!"

For a moment she was frozen to the spot. But then she gave a weak and numb nod. She turned, fleeing in the direction of the door through which she had entered. Behind her, the ninjas crashed and grunted as Edward attacked them with his staff. Once he hissed in pain as a ninja star grazed his shoulder. She did not look back. He was not going to stand a chance if the fight kept up for very long. But there was nothing she could do except to follow his instructions and get help. . . .

The sound of a gun brought the battle to a halt. The Riddler whirled at the cry of pain, his eyes widening behind the mask. The first ninja had climbed to the chair in the center of the room. In one hand he held a small device that he had taken from the helmet positioned above the chair. The other hand held a deadly weapon, which was still smoking from firing twice. Julie was slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor. Blood was emerging from two wounds in her back.

All thoughts fled the Riddler's mind. He ran over, collapsing to his knees next to her as she fell. "Julie!" he cried, gripping her shoulder. "Julie! . . ." More blood was pooling on the floor in front of her. At least one of the bullets had gone all the way through.

She looked up at him for a moment, but her vision soon faltered. Instead she was staring at a point just beyond him. "Edward . . ." she choked, blood coming to her lips. Her eyes fell shut, her body growing limp and lifeless.

He had failed to save her.

"No," he said, shaking his head as he reached to feel for a pulse. "No . . . no! This wasn't supposed to happen!"

Rage flamed his heart. He whirled, expecting to see the murderer. He would drive this staff through that man's heart. He would do it gladly to take revenge for this pointless death!

But the room was empty. The chess pieces had fled, taking with them some small part from the information database.

All that was left was a piece of newspaper that had floated to the floor--a piece of newspaper that bore a large word written in red.

_Check._

And everything crashed together in his mind.

He leaped up, running for the exit his enemies had taken. He heard the other door open behind him, but he did not stop to turn around and look. This was personal. It had always been personal. And it was going to end.

"Riddler, wait!" Yin called from behind him. Still he did not stop. He vanished around a corner.

She advanced further into the room, a gasp leaving her lips at the sight of Julie's lifeless body on the floor. "What happened here?" she breathed. Quickly she knelt down, searching for any signs of life.

Batman looked the scene over with narrowed eyes. "They got to her first," he said. "Nygma couldn't stop it from happening." He reached down, lifting up the bit of newspaper.

"'Check,'" Yin read, turning to look at it. "What does it mean?"

"It's the key to everything," Batman said, his voice darkening. "It's a term in chess that means the king is in danger."

"But then . . ." Suddenly Yin felt sick. "Riddler--he's the king!"

Batman nodded. "And he's gone to confront the Chessmaster."

"We have to find him!" Yin exclaimed. "But how will he know where to go?"

"He knows." Batman looked towards the doorway. "He's going to Gotham Power and Light."


	9. Checkmate

**Chapter Nine**

The old Gotham Power and Light building, recently bought by Charles Gorman, was now protected by a security code. But he had not installed it; it had been put in place by the one who had hijacked the building just for tonight. The Chessmaster had known the Riddler would come. And so he sat back and waited, watching on the security cameras for when his prey would come.

It did not take the Riddler long to get past the security code and slip inside. But he was too angry to enjoy his little victory. The Chessmaster wanted him to come anyway, so of course he would ensure that the Riddler would be able to get inside.

The entire front lobby was decorated with black and white squares on the floor. He glowered at them with hate in his eyes. Another manifestation of the Chessmaster's obsession with the game, turning it into his own little twisted paradise.

Only the Riddler himself was supposed to create such games. And the stakes were not supposed to be this high. People were not supposed to be dying! Julie was not supposed to be dead.

He took a step forward onto the first square, which was black. Instantly a laser shot from the ceiling, forcing him to jump back.

"Uh uh," a voice purred over the loudspeakers. "You can only travel on the white squares. Consider it a warm-up exercise."

Riddler gritted his teeth. Of course the Chessmaster would do something like that. If he was not so enraged, maybe he could appreciate the computer skills that had gone into this hack job. As it was, he leaped forward onto the first white square, then the next, continuing to his goal at the end of the hall. Laser beams shot out at him from all directions, forcing him to jump, turn, and dodge--all while staying on the white squares. There was no choice but to focus on the here and now. But the anger burned in his heart as he pressed on, even though he could not spend time thinking about it.

The tiles ended at the beginning of the carpet. Offices branched left and right, but he ignored them. Chessmaster would not bother with such drivel. He was waiting in the main control room. The Riddler continued to walk forward until he was past the cubicles. But the hallway beyond, that should lead to the control room, was blocked by an electric force field.

He frowned at it. That should not be there. Was he supposed to deactivate it? Or was he supposed to turn right and travel up the stairs leading to the observation deck? It was little more than a large balcony overlooking the control room below. Both rooms looked out to the generator room beyond, through a large glass. And there was a light on upstairs. In irritation he turned, going up the stairs.

Only one person was there, standing in front of a console. As the Riddler approached, the other man turned to look. He was dressed all in black robes and a matching domino mask, with an onyx crown. A delighted smirk graced his lips.

"So you've come, Eddie," he purred. "I knew you would make it here."

"I'm here to take my revenge, Hank," the Riddler answered. "Julie's dead." His eyes narrowed. It was Hank who had done it, dressed in a catsuit like his elite minions. Maybe Hank had committed most of them, but somehow the Riddler had the feeling that Julie had been a special case.

"After everything she did to you, you even care?" the Chessmaster said. He glowered. "At least she paid attention to you. She never gave me a second glance. I envied you every day for getting to have her company. And to even work with her! What could be better?"

"She wasn't as wonderful as we thought," the Riddler coldly said. "She only cared about success. She would have gotten rid of you, too, if she had thought you would be in her way."

"But I still would have been with her for a little while." A bit of wistfulness had crept into the other's voice. "You were so lucky, Eddie."

"You're not telling me that all of this killing was because _I_ had Julie?!" the Riddler retorted.

"No, not all of it," the Chessmaster said. "It was also because I just hated your guts. You were smarter, you had the better ideas, you had a rich uncle paying for you to go to college after you got out of prison. . . ."

His cruel expression deepened as the Riddler stiffened. "I knew your name wasn't really Nashton," he said. "I just wasn't sure what it really was. But then I met your uncle at a diner, quite by accident. He had the same dark hair and green eyes, and when he mentioned he had a nephew at the university, I knew it must be you. Then I remembered seeing an article in the paper around the time you were convicted. Edward Nygma. It all fit!"

"You could have used that information to try to ruin me, if you'd wanted," the Riddler said. Inside he was seething.

"I thought about it," the Chessmaster admitted. "But I decided I'd just wait and watch you for a while, instead."

"I don't even remember you being at the university," the Riddler frowned.

The Chessmaster gritted his teeth. "Of course you don't," he said. "I was nothing to you. You just went on your little arrogant way, never wanting to talk to me."

"I never wanted to talk to anybody," the Riddler corrected. "I didn't have some bias against you, for Heaven's sake!"

"I know. But I hated you, Eddie. I said Hello and you'd say Hello, and then you'd go on past. No conversation, no nothing." The Chessmaster gripped his custom-made king's sceptre as he spoke, looking as though he wanted to challenge the Riddler to a duel using it.

"If you wanted a conversation, you should have started one," the Riddler said. "Everyone says Hello in the hallways as they walk past. 'Hello' doesn't mean 'Let's stop and chat for a few minutes', not unless someone stops and says something else."

"And you never stopped and said something else!" the Chessmaster ranted.

Green eyes narrowed. This was getting them nowhere. "Alright. So you hate me because I didn't talk to you. You hate me because I had better ideas and because I had Julie. And so you started killing people to get me to notice you?!" he cried.

"I wanted to see how long it would take you to realize who those people were," the Chessmaster retorted. "They were people who'd passed you on the street and stopped to talk. They were people from stores, the bank . . . people who'd visited the university or who liked to walk around the grounds! But you never remembered them." He gave a bitter laugh. "Just think, Eddie--if you'd realized what was going on, you could've stopped everything! You could have came to me and told me you'd figured it out, and that would've been that!"

"_Don't_ pin your murders on me!" The Riddler took a step forward, clutching his staff. "I am not responsible for what you did. Maybe in your mind, you honestly believe I am. But I am _not_."

"Every murder you, the police, and Batman weren't smart enough to solve, you were responsible for," the Chessmaster declared. "They would've all stopped if only you'd found me out." He stood and smirked. "And now it's the final curtain, Eddie. But don't think you're the only one who's going to get it. Those people you've been working with, they're coming here for you. But they can't get up here." He pressed a button on his sceptre. A force field sizzled to life, cutting off the Riddler's only path of escape. He was stranded on the balcony.

"What are you going to do to them?" the Riddler asked.

"Let's wait till they get here," the Chessmaster smirked, "and I'll tell them, too."

"We're here."

Both men started, looking over the balcony railing at the room below. It was Yin who had spoken. Along with her was Commissioner Gordon, Batman, and Robin. Batman was prepared to climb up using the grapple hook, if need be. But the Chessmaster did not intend to allow it. Pressing another button on his sceptre, the entire area above the balcony railing became barred by an electronic force field.

"And you're not coming up here!" he cried. "We're going to play a little game instead. It's called Who Fries First."

"Thanks, but I'll pass," Yin retorted.

"You don't have a choice!" the Chessmaster cried with glee. "Look at the floor--you're standing on a chessboard."

Batman looked down at the tiles, his eyes narrowing. He had an idea of where this was going, and it needed to stop before someone got hurt. There was a console down here, too--a much larger one--but it did not seem to be operational. Or was it? A green light had just blinked on the front of it.

"If you try to step off the board, my laser beams will fry you," the Chessmaster announced. "You have to complete a game of chess against my forces."

The door by the other side of the board opened, admitting those of Chessmaster's forces who had not yet been apprehended. They took their positions on the side of the board closest to them.

"Neither side has enough people to play," Batman frowned.

"Yeah!" Robin exclaimed. "This is totally bogus. You can't expect us to have a fair game against all of your people."

"Let's just say that the ones missing from the board have already been taken out of play," the Chessmaster grinned. "But Eddie's staying up here with me, whether he likes it or not. He'll fry if he tries to leave the room."

The Riddler glowered. If he could get the sceptre away from the Chessmaster, he should be able to deactivate this insanity. But it was getting it away from him that would be the problem. He would have to sit tight and plan a strategy to catch his nemesis off-guard.

"Okay," the Chessmaster called, "so the lady plays a rook. Since we've already seen she does that so well."

Yin narrowed her eyes, looking at him through the crackling lines of the force field. "What are we going to do?" she asked Batman.

"We'll have to play along for now," he told her. "If we can get through this, and I can get to that console, I should be able to deactivate things from down here. It's a safe bet that he won't let us go even if we win the game."

"Alright! Batman's a knight. Fitting, right? The Dark Knight plays a knight in chess." The Chessmaster grinned. "The commish can be a bishop."

"What about me?" Robin frowned. "And don't make me a pawn!"

"But pawns are cool," the Chessmaster replied. "They stand in front and go to battle first.

"Okay! Are we ready to play?" he called.

"No," Riddler retorted.

The Chessmaster ignored him. "Oh yeah, and be sure to remember what ways your characters can move," he said. "If you make one wrong step . . . _zap!_"

"No second chances?!" Robin cried.

"Sorry, kid, we're playing for keeps!" the Chessmaster declared. "Start!"

The board lit up. Batman and the others exchanged looks.

"So . . . who goes first?" Yin wondered.

"We're white, so we do," Batman said.

"I'll go first," Gordon said, infuriated that they were being manipulated by this madman.

"Only pawns or knights can go first," Batman said. He took a step forward, then another, and moved to the diagonal square. One of the black pawns moved forward to meet him.

"Me next!" Robin said, stepping ahead a square. A second pawn came forward.

"Isn't this exciting?" the Chessmaster smiled. "I always wanted to see a game played like this. It would be better with a full board, but oh well, we take what we can get!"

The Riddler frowned at him. ". . . You were faking your inability to play chess, weren't you?" he said.

"Of course," the Chessmaster purred. "I couldn't give away any hints on who I was, not while I was biding my time in Arkham. I got picked up for some other crimes and had to put our game on hold."

"This isn't a game," the Riddler retorted.

What an ironic statement, coming from him. He had often played twisted games, and though he was not a mass murderer, people had played for their lives in his obstacle courses. Was it at all possible that he _cared_ what happened to the people below right now? Or did his comment stem more from his outrage that the murders themselves were considered part of the "game"? His emotions were mixed up. He could not make sense of them.

Below, Robin was triumphant over taking out an opposing pawn. "Yes!" he said, pumping the air with a fist. "That will teach you to mess with us!"

"I hope you didn't set yourself up to be captured already," the Chessmaster smirked, turning his attention back to the board.

"Huh?!" Robin exclaimed.

Batman narrowed his eyes. "You're safe on this turn, but be careful," he said. "The opposing rook could capture you."

"Not if I can capture it first," Yin said. There was still a pawn in her way, but if she captured it, then she would be in the path of the other rook. So she moved to the side.

Batman, meanwhile, had encountered the opposing knight, who had escaped capture at the lab after beating up Gorman. Narrowing his eyes, Batman stepped to the square the knight was occupying. The knight had to step off the board.

"Why do you hate Fridays?" the Riddler asked the Chessmaster, trying again to distract him.

"Why?" Behind the mask, the eyes flamed. "There's so many reasons. It was a Friday when I said Hello to you. It was a Friday when you first took Julie on a date. It was a Friday when I was put into Arkham, but that came later."

"And this is coming now!" The Riddler lashed out with his staff, forcing the Chessmaster to hurry and bring up his sceptre in defense.

"Oh?" the Chessmaster smirked. "So the kings should fight, hmm? Yes, let's. I was planning on it at some point anyway." He kicked out, hitting the Riddler in the stomach. The dark-haired man stumbled backward. Before he could recover, the Chessmaster was coming at him again, punching him across the face.

The Riddler crashed down on the floor on his back. Dazed, he looked up to see a large switch above him. What was it for? There was another across the room. That did not make sense. Were they some new addition the Chessmaster had installed? They did not look like any of the equipment that was supposed to be there. But if the Chessmaster had brought them, he would have had to have done it earlier tonight. He was about as fast as the Riddler had been when he had "redecorated" Gorman's house.

The Chessmaster lunged, forcing him back to the present. He leaped up, crashing his staff against the sceptre again. Throwing his weight into the weapon, he pushed the Chessmaster back a step. He followed it up by kicking the other's legs out from under him. The Chessmaster grunted, falling to the floor. But as the Riddler moved to attack again, the Chessmaster was suddenly up once more, sending the lanky man flying into the wall. The Riddler groaned, sinking down to the floor.

"This'll give you a shock," the Chessmaster punned. Pressing his sceptre against the Riddler's chest, he pushed a button. Electricity shot through the Riddler's body like fire. He gasped in anguish, unable to do anything except to grip the floor. Then he was released as the Chessmaster pulled the weapon back.

"You weren't expecting I could do that, were you?" he grinned. "And there's a lot more where that came from."

The Riddler narrowed his eyes. He reached behind him, gripping the wall as he pushed himself to rise. Without warning he lunged, striking the Chessmaster on the side of the head. The other man fell back, stunned yet not knocked senseless. But the Riddler took the opportunity to lunge again, aiming to strike with the staff.

The Chessmaster recovered in enough time to bring his sceptre against the cane--and now he was channeling electricity through it. A scream tore from the Riddler's lips. Having it come through the staff to reach him was far worse than if he was hit with it directly.

Yin, having just defeated the opposing rook, looked up in horror at the cry. Through the force field she could see the Riddler airborne, flying through the air to crash against the wall.

"Riddler!" she called.

For a moment there was silence. Then he answered in a weak voice, "Just focus on what you're supposed to, Detective."

She narrowed her eyes, looking back to the board. She was so helpless down here! All of them were. They were making good progress across the board, but then what? What if the console down here could not be reprogrammed to turn everything off? And what would happen if the Riddler could not defeat the Chessmaster?

He was right--she needed to concentrate on the immediate problem first, which was finishing this sick game.

Robin was now facing an opposing bishop. "Can I kick the bad guys off the board?" he asked.

"Don't push your luck," Batman replied. "Just follow the rules as closely as you can."

"Ah man," Robin sighed, but then moved to the square where the bishop was. The opposing piece stepped off the board.

Commissioner Gordon, having faced off against a pawn, stiffened at the furious sounds above them. He looked up at the balcony, glaring at the force field. "They're not just fighting now," he said. "Riddler's being beaten!" At least he was certain it was the Riddler, though he could not actually see them from here. But the Chessmaster was bigger and stronger, and it was unlikely that the Riddler would be able to get the upper hand long enough to do as much damage as Gordon was hearing.

Batman narrowed his eyes. "We're almost across the board by now," he said, "but that might not be soon enough. He's going to have to try to hold his own a while longer."

And the Riddler was indeed trying. The Chessmaster had completely lost his mind at the chance to beat up his hated enemy, but there was a fatal flaw in his attack--he had let down his guard. Riddler was sprawled on the floor as the other's fists pounded his body. He reached out, grabbing hold of the Chessmaster's ankle. The other never noticed. Riddler gave as strong of a pull as he was able. The Chessmaster gave a shocked cry, losing his balance as he tumbled forward. The Riddler scrambled up, breathing heavily as he grabbed his staff.

"This isn't over yet," he declared with a weak smirk. As the Chessmaster tried to rise, the Riddler struck him down with the staff. Then he stood over his opponent, holding the sharp point of the crook at the Chessmaster's neck.

"You know," Chessmaster said, panting as he sneered up at the Riddler, "when they get to the other end of the board, they're going to die anyway."

The Riddler's eyes narrowed. "That doesn't surprise me, but how is it going to be done?" he demanded.

"One of two ways," Chessmaster said grandly. "Either the laser beams will fry them anyway, or . . ." He glanced upward. "My special electricity beams will be switched on, get attracted to their body heat, and electrocute them. I stole the final part I needed to make them work from your invention. They needed just a little more power than could be safely spared here without risking blowing the whole place into another galaxy. So, I took the power from a different source."

"And how will they be activated?" the Riddler persisted, pressing the sharp point right against the Chessmaster's neck. His voice was dark and deadly, a warning that the Chessmaster was crossing the line.

Without warning the Chessmaster flung the sceptre at the staff, causing it to be pushed away from him. Then he leaped up, kicking the Riddler in his mid-section.

"The switches," he announced with glee. "The one on the right is for downstairs."

"And the one on the left is for up here?" the Riddler guessed as he struggled to straighten up.

A nod. "You'll watch all of them die down there," the Chessmaster said. "And then I'll kill you too. Who knows where I'll go after that. There's other people I want to take revenge on, other murders to commit. Maybe I'll go to Metropolis and start the same thing there that I've been doing here. Do you think Superman would figure it out?"

The Riddler was not even going to ask why the Chessmaster was angry at Superman.

"They're almost ready to get off the board now," he said. "They're onto your side's territory."

And his eyes narrowed. "Why don't you have a queen?" he asked. Though he had already guessed at the reason, he wanted the Chessmaster to confirm it.

"Julie was my queen," the Chessmaster answered. "But you took her from me."

"And you killed her because you couldn't have her?" The Riddler's voice was dark again.

"Something like that. I just wanted to torment you, too. I know you still care about her, even though you know she never liked you."

He sneered. "But since I couldn't have her, I found me the perfect solution--my red-headed shooter. She looks a lot like Julie, and best of all, she likes me. So I made her the king's bishop because then she'd be standing next to me on the chessboard."

"I'd think she'd feel jealous of playing second fiddle to Julie," the Riddler retorted.

"She was used to it," the Chessmaster shrugged.

The subject had better be changed before the Riddler grew very angry over this information. It was outrageous that the Chessmaster had killed Julie for those reasons. The Riddler was not very happy that his enemy was treating the hitwoman the way he was doing, either. And the girl must be blind, just as the Riddler had been when he had thought Julie cared about him.

"What was the deal about Joe?" the Riddler demanded. "He was impersonating you."

"I needed someone to do it while I was doing all the other stuff," the Chessmaster said. "I couldn't hold down two jobs and live a fairly normal life in addition to advancing my goals." He made a face. "Joe sure made me pay him a bundle, though. And he didn't even do a very good impression of me!" He held up the sceptre. "But enough talk. It's time to make everyone pay."

The Riddler tensed. Was he going to press a button on that thing and activate the laser beams? No, the Riddler would not let him have the chance to even try.

The dark-haired man lunged with a war cry, brandishing his staff as he leaped into the air. In one swift motion he had swiped the sceptre into the cane's crook. "Someone below had better be ready to catch this," he said, and flung the sceptre through the balcony railing.

"Done," Batman called back a moment later.

The Chessmaster gave a cry of rage. "You can't do that!" he screamed. "You _can't_ do that!" Now he had completely snapped. It was eerie watching him; the Riddler himself had made similar outbursts. Now he was on the receiving end.

The Chessmaster slammed into him full force, tackling him to the floor. The staff clanked down hard, rolling over to the wall. "This time you won't get away," the Chessmaster vowed. He struck the Riddler across the face. The other man's head snapped to the side at the impact, but he quickly recovered. The blows were coming with no stops in between. A fist was pounding into his chest. The other caught him in the side. The first hit him in the stomach. The second slammed into his ribs. He reached up, clawing at the bigger man's upper torso. But it was no use. Now the Chessmaster could not be dissuaded.

Of all things to be thinking of, what was going through the Riddler's mind now was him saying that his line of work had not resulted in injuries to himself. Well, he would certainly not be seeking the occupation of a policeman any time soon.

Blood was rising in his throat. Was there some kind of internal damage now? In desperation he grabbed at the other's wrists, struggling to draw them away from him. The Chessmaster fought against him like an animal, tearing a wrist free. He grabbed at the Riddler's throat, his eyes wild. Slowly he began to squeeze.

"You've put up as good a fight as you can," he hissed. "But it's all over."

The Riddler glowered, clutching at the muscular arm with both hands. He could not speak. His air was being cut off. Was this the end? Spots were popping up in front of his line of vision.

Something cut through the air, slicing into the Chessmaster's shoulder. He cried out in surprise and pain, grabbing at the injury as he let go of the other man's throat.

The Riddler's eyes widened. A Batarang! Batman had shut down the lasers and then had timed the Batarang to travel between the lines of the force field above the balcony. He took the opportunity to shove the Chessmaster back, coughing as the air rushed back into his lungs. Dizziness and pain swept over him as he slumped back on the floor.

The Chessmaster fell back too willingly. "So that's how it's going to be, is it?" he cried, leaping to his feet. "Well, you still haven't shut down the force field that lets you come up here, so you're still sitting ducks!" He ran to the switch at the right. "I'll kill you all right now!"

Everything happened in a matter of seconds. The Riddler could not get up. At least, not in time to stop the madman. He gasped in pain, clutching at his ribs as he turned onto his other side. If he could just stretch his arm far enough to grab his cane . . . there! He had taken hold of the end. Shakily he reached up, hooking the crook around the left switch. There was no time to even think about why he was doing this. It was what had to be done. It was the only way.

"Hank!" he choked out. "I have one thing to say."

The Chessmaster whirled, having pulled the switch down almost all the way. His eyes widened in horror at the sight of the Riddler struggling to work the other switch.

"No!" he cried, letting go of the right switch to run over to his enemy. Somewhere below, Yin had cried out as well.

With the last of his strength, the Riddler forced down the left switch. "Checkmate," he hissed.

The electricity beams came alive, pulsating across the balcony and through the two men. Yin's heart was racing. The agonized screams were too much.

"We can't let this happen!" she screamed. "We can't let him die for us!" She and Batman ran forward to the console at the same time, forcing their way past the ninjas who were still insistent on bothering them.

"There's no time to work the controls!" Batman said. He stabbed a Batarang into the console, cutting off all power in that part of the building.

Almost as soon as it had started, everything stopped. The electricity faded, the force fields deactivating. The silence was deafening. A metallic clatter echoed through the building, followed by further silence.

Batman switched on a flashlight as he and Yin ran for the stairs. At the top, he shined it on the scene. The Chessmaster had crashed backwards against the far wall, his skin pale and his body limp. The domino mask had fallen from his face, not that its absence made him any less of a mystery. A weak moan slipped from his partially-open mouth.

"He's still alive," Yin breathed. Could that mean . . . ?

Batman beamed the flashlight to the side. The Riddler was sprawled on his back, his head turned to the left. His cane, the source of the metallic clang, was laying next to him. A spark of electricity rose from his lifeless body.

Yin collapsed to her knees, trembling at the sight of him laying so still. "No," she said with finality. "No, I won't let someone die like this!" She leaned down, listening for the sound of a heartbeat. There was nothing. She pushed herself up, pounding on his chest as she struggled to perform CPR. He had sacrificed himself to save the rest of them. Why? This was not acceptable. No one had been supposed to die. They had come here with the intention of bringing everything to an end. He could not be dead . . . he could not be!

He had been alive a few moments ago. He had thrown the sceptre over the balcony, enabling Batman to cut off the laser beams preventing them from leaving the chessboard. The last words the Riddler had spoken to her were still ringing through her mind.

_"Just focus on what you're supposed to, Detective."_

Now he would never speak again.

No. She was not ready to accept that yet.

"It's too late to save him."

Batman's voice broke into the memories crashing through her mind. She shook her head with vehemence.

"It isn't!" she said through gritted teeth. "All of us were supposed to get out of here. He can't be left . . . like this. . . . It wasn't what had to be!"

She drew out her taser, pulling down the already-battered and torn cloth over his chest in order to position the gun right over his heart. The weapon was on the highest setting. She pulled the trigger. His body jerked from the force of the electricity, but then lay still. Again she tried, with the same result.

Yin's shoulders slumped after the third attempt. She could not revive him. Batman was right--he was dead. Behind the white of the mask that he had again donned, there was only darkness. His eyes, still framed by that black eyeshadow, were closed.

Shakily she got to her feet, a lump rising in her throat. He had died, but the one who had caused all of this madness was still alive. How could it be that unfair? This case had been one heartache after another. Suddenly she felt so lost, so alone. Part of her wanted--_needed_--to break down right now. But she could not. She had to stay composed. By the time she was alone and actually could release her feelings, she would feel too numb to do anything.

Robin looked up at Batman. "Why did he do this?" he asked, somber and confused by what had happened. He and the commissioner had come up as well, but had remained quiet as Yin had struggled in vain to save the life of the criminal who had saved them. Robin was not sure what to say to her now.

Batman shook his head. "We'll never know," he said. His own feelings of failure were crashing through his mind. He should have been able to have done something. This had not been supposed to happen. Nygma had already been badly beaten and electrically shocked twice by the time he had pulled down the switch. That was why he had died. That was what logic told Batman.

But all he could hear echoing through his mind was that he had failed. That was why someone had died again. He had been here, but had not been able to stop it quick enough. If he had gotten to the console faster, would it have been any different?

Dwelling on the _what ifs_ would not help now. He bent down, gathering the limp form into his arms. Nygma's head fell back, the long hair nearly touching the floor before Batman straightened.

"Maybe he just wanted his final revenge," he said, "and he wanted it badly enough to die for it." He paused. "Or maybe he had a different reason." Somehow, he was inclined to believe the latter.

"He died a hero," Yin said quietly.

Robin looked down. Thinking of a villain as a hero was hard for him. But Yin was right.

"I'll call an ambulance," Commissioner Gordon spoke at last, quiet as well.

Yin gave a shaking nod. It needed to be done. And she needed to go over and check the Chessmaster's vital signs. But at this point, did she have the strength? Could she make herself stay impartial long enough to do what needed to be done? He was moaning again, but he was not likely to regain full consciousness any time soon.

_"Just focus on what you're supposed to, Detective."_

She steeled herself, taking the first step in that direction. It did not get easier with the second or third, or even the final step. But she made it to where the Chessmaster was slumped. His pulse was weak, but still there. His breathing was slow and pained. She would need to treat him for shock, laying him on the floor with his feet higher than his head. Something also had to be spread underneath him to conserve body heat. And all she had was her jacket. She began to slip out of it.

"Detective. Give him this."

She started and looked up. The commissioner was holding out his overcoat, which would certainly be a better choice to keep the man warm. Slowly Yin took it, spreading it on the floor. Commissioner Gordon then assisted in easing the weakened body down and raising the feet.

". . . Thank you, sir," she said when it was done. The ambulance sirens were already wailing in the distance.

He gave a quiet nod.

Slowly she stood, pulling her dark hair out from underneath her jacket as she shrugged back into it. She turned, looking to where Batman had laid the Riddler's body on a couch. But she had to avert her gaze after a moment. She could not bear to see him like that.

It was strange, how opinions had changed. She had never thought she would be able to feel anything other than disgust and annoyance towards that arrogant man. Yet somehow she had come to not mind the times they had worked together on this case. Now it was all over. He would not walk away free, able to start over with his life.

He had given it up to save her and the others.

From downtown, the clock at city hall chimed twelve times.

It was Friday.

* * *

**Before anyone throws rotten fruit at me, there's still one more installment!**


	10. Epilogue

**Notes: Thanks so much to everyone who's been following this fic! It's been one wild ride to write. I'm eager to write more in **_**The Batman**_** universe, and I hope everyone will stick with me for the next ventures!**

* * *

**Epilogue**

The reign of the Friday Night killer had ended.

Commissioner Gordon had marked the casefile closed upon arriving at the office later on Friday morning, but it was a bittersweet victory.

The Chessmaster was locked away in the Arkham Asylum infirmary. He was recovering from being hit by his own electricity beams, but the shock had done something to what was left of his mind. All he wanted was to talk about chess. No one who spoke to him could get a sensible statement from him.

The rest of his chess pieces had been taken into custody. The police were still trying to sort out which ones had committed what murders. So far, three had been charged with counts of murder and attempted murder--the red-headed king's bishop among them.

Gorman was recovering from the attack on the laboratory and the beating he had received courtesy of the knight. He was back to his usual self, complaining about the hospital and wanting to get out. The staff was just as eager to be rid of him.

And Yin had found a weak pulse when she had checked Julie for lifesigns--something the Riddler must have missed. It had taken Yin a while to find it herself. Julie was in critical condition from the two bullets she had taken, but she was expected to heal. Yin bitterly wondered if Julie would care when she was told about Edward Nygma's death. Yin was considering being the one to break the news to her.

She herself was far more affected by his death than she had ever thought she could be. When she had finally returned to her apartment the previous night, she had barely slept. Instead she had lain awake, staring at the ceiling as the images had flashed in front of her eyes again and again. It was always the sight of him sprawled on the floor, dead, that got to her. At last she had rolled onto her side, gazing off at a point between the wall and the floor until at last she had fallen asleep. Today she felt like a zombie.

And Bruce Wayne had been even more reserved today than usual. Both Dick and Alfred were worried about him.

"He's been really upset that things turned out the way they did," Dick said as they watched Bruce head out the door for work.

Alfred nodded, his eyes narrowed in concern. "This case has weighed heavily on Master Bruce's mind," he said, "both now and in the past. I can only imagine how he felt to discover that Mr. Nygma had departed from this life."

Dick frowned, watching the limousine drive away. "Do you think he'll be okay, Alfred?"

Alfred hesitated. "Yes," he said then, "in time." But he was not sure how much time would be needed.

* * *

That night, the Bat-signal illuminated the night sky. Commissioner Gordon was summoning Batman, deeply concerned over something that had happened that past day. When Batman arrived on the roof, he found both the commissioner and Detective Yin waiting.

"What happened?" Batman asked. His voice was more abrupt than usual.

"The Riddler's body was stolen from the morgue late last night," Gordon told him. "The pathologist discovered it gone this morning, but she didn't report it until later. She couldn't imagine who would have taken it."

A deep frown came over Batman's features. "Was anything else taken?" he asked.

"Only the man's clothes and that cane of his," Gordon said.

Yin looked at Batman. "Do you think the Riddlemen broke in to steal his body?"

"I don't know." Batman was still deeply frowning. This was not something he had expected. Hardly anyone even knew of the Riddler's involvement in the case--or so he had thought. With the information leaking left and right, maybe the Riddlemen had learned of it too, and then had also found out about the Riddler's death. But what reason would they have for taking the body? To bury it themselves? Maybe they had not wanted it to be turned over to the state. The Riddler could have even told them in the past that if he died, they should take his body.

"One other thing," Gordon said. "This sheet of paper was left in the freezer compartment where his body was."

Batman took the paper, his eyes narrowing further at what was printed on it.

_"When you don't know what I am, I am something. When you know what I am, I am nothing. What am I?"_

"I am a riddle," Batman murmured.

"That was the first riddle he gave us," Yin said, "that night at city hall." She crossed her arms.

Batman nodded. He remembered very well. This note had not been idly written.

"What do you make of it?" Gordon asked.

"I don't know." Batman frowned, studying the paper.

"It almost sounds like he left this there himself," Yin said. "But that's impossible, isn't it?"

After everything he had already seen in the past few years, Batman was not sure he agreed. Among other things, he had encountered a psychotic clown, a substance that enabled its victims to shapeshift into any possible form, a plant-controlling eco-terrorist, and the legendary Dracula. Was the Riddler returning from the dead any more strange and unlikely than any of those things?

"Maybe it's not impossible," he said now.

Gordon and Yin looked at him in surprise.

Batman was facing towards the lights of the city. His cape blew out in the slight breeze that was picking up, silhouetted against the full moon.

"Maybe," he said, still holding the note, "we haven't seen the last of the Riddler."


End file.
